


We All Fall

by GenThol



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Life Debt, Lots of Tea, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mystery, Sassy Kreacher, Slow Build, inventions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenThol/pseuds/GenThol
Summary: Harry answers his front door to a distraught Narcissa Malfoy. Life Debts are called in. Magical technology is created. Sometimes, white and black swirl together until all you can see is grey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the biggest writing endeavor I have ever attempted! Several chapters are already written and will be added weekly. Thank you for joining me on this journey and I very much hope that you enjoy it.

A small box labeled _‘Ear-Bugs’_ sat on the sitting room table. Pulling the spider-like contraptions out of their packaging, Harry lifted them to either side of his head and startled when they jumped into his ears. After a moment of discomfort, he used his wand to tap the newly added music note on his Muggle Brick. He reeled as music instantly began blaring into his brain. With a yell he couldn’t hear, he clawed at his head, trying to get the Bugs out. Not only did they not budge, they seemed to be trying to burrow in deeper. Eyes beginning to tear, he desperately grabbed for the Brick and his fallen wand. He jabbed at the music note again and collapsed in relief when the music stopped.

He stared at the floor in shock until a pair of small feet came into view. Blinking to clear his head, he looked up to see Kreacher’s look of annoyance morph into one of confusion. The elf said something, but Harry had no idea what because a ringing noise had replaced the music.

“Kreacher,” Harry said, trying to be heard over the ringing, “I can’t hear you.”

Wincing, Kreacher put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and then repeated whatever he’d said.

Harry could now make out a murmur as his hearing began to return but still couldn’t understand. He shrugged at the house elf in apology. “Can it wait?” he asked in what he hoped was a modulated tone.

It was Kreacher’s turn to shrug. He pointed toward the front door and mimed a knocking motion.

Ah, someone was at the door. Harry had forbidden Kreacher from answering himself because of an incident involving a singing telegram, a bubble charm, and a witch wearing only a few strategically placed tassels. Harry was still suspicious that had been George’s doing.

Thinking of George, Harry took a moment to jot down some quick notes for him while he waited for his hearing to become more reliable.

_Ear BUDS, not bugs! Sound is way too loud. Volume control NEEDED. I think my brain is bleeding._

As the ringing faded, Harry dropped his quill and headed for the door. Who would be knocking? Grimmauld Place was even more heavily warded now because of the tassel woman, and his friends would have just Floo’ed or walked right in.

Harry looked out the peep hole and saw nothing. A prank? If George was fucking with him again…

Cautiously, Harry opened the door. The sight that greeted him froze him in place. On his door step, disheveled and slumped around a body was Narcissa Malfoy. Her eyes rose to meet his and Harry stared back in stupefaction.

“Mr. Potter,” she said brokenly, “you must help me.”

Harry blinked. “I –” Harry blinked again. “Is that blood? I’ll call the Aurors,” he said as he took in the smears on her face and hands.

“No!” she said quickly. “I can’t be sure- They could-” Visibly, she calmed herself and said, “please, Mr. Potter, can you let us in? My son is hurt.”

Again, Harry blinked. Her son? Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? The body she held couldn’t be him. It was too small, too… broken. The limbs looked twisted and misshapen, the fabric covering the limp form too ragged and torn.

“I – yeah. Let me just –” Finally able to move, Harry bent down and gathered the body in his arms. The limbs flopped uncooperatively, and the head lolled to the side. A weak moan came from under the hood and Harry almost dropped the body in surprise. He’d been thinking of it as ‘the body,’ not believing it was alive. With effort and a grunt, Harry stood up with his awkward burden. “Follow me.”

Harry’s arms and legs protested the entire way to his sitting room. Sighing in relief, Harry put the twisted person on the couch and asked, “how on Earth did you carry him to my house?”

“Levitation charm, Mr. Potter,” she said with an arched eyebrow. Clearly, her composure was returning.

“Okay,” Harry replied slowly, “better question – _Why_ did you carry him to my house? St. Mungo’s–”

“No,” she said again quickly. “I can’t risk taking him there.”

“Why not? He looks half dead and could bleed out on my couch!” Harry’s brain was staring to catch up with the fact that there was a _bleeding person_ in his house that definitely needed medical attention and a known Voldemort supporter had brought that person here.

Squaring his shoulders and looking Narcissa in the eye, he asked, “what’s going on? How did you even know where I live?”

Narcissa looked down. “Please, let me check on him and then I’ll explain what I can.”

Harry nodded his assent and she knelt by the couch. She pulled back the cloak and hood covering the person that Harry had avoided looking at too closely. He gasped. It _was_ Draco Malfoy. It was Draco Malfoy as Harry had only seen him once before – sickly pale, unconscious, and covered in his own blood. Harry remembered rushing water, echoing voices, and a gut-wrenching feeling of profound remorse.

“Kreacher!” Harry called.

With a pop, Kreacher appeared. The elf looked over at their guests with his customary, badly faked smile and then froze. With a wail, Kreacher launched himself at the Malfoys’ side. “Mistress Narcissa! Kreacher is getting hot water and cloths! I is getting potions and bandages for young Master Draco! Leave it to Kreacher!” He was gone with another pop.

“Figures,” Harry muttered to himself. To Narcissa he said, “is there anything else you need? A Healer…?”

“He will be fine. I’ve already mended the worst of it. Kreacher will do everything that is needed, and then Draco will just need to rest.” She smoothed Malfoy’s bloody hair back from his forehead. “Thank you, Mr. Potter.”

Kreacher popped back in with an armload of supplies and several hovering potion vials. “I is healing the young master and cleaning away the blood. Kreacher is knowing how to mend wounds and will stop the hurt.”

Narcissa’s tense posture relaxed a fraction. She smoothed Malfoy’s hair once more before standing. Sighing, she paused a moment before saying softly to Harry, “I don’t know who did this.”

“Why not go to the Aurors?”

“Why go to them? They have no sympathy for my family and some of them might have been among those who did this to my son.” Narcissa shook her head. “No. At best, they would forget about Draco in a shuffle of paperwork. At worst… Well, I would rather they not have access to him.”

Harry frowned. “Aurors help people. It’s their job. They wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

A smile that wasn’t happy grew on Narcissa’s face. “Pretty to think so. But who decides _who_ deserves _what?_ ”

“Okay, fine. But you still should have gone to St. Mungo’s. What if he doesn’t wake up?”

Pain flashed over her face. “I don’t believe the injuries are that bad. No internal trauma. No spell damage. I healed the injuries that were still bleeding freely. He will be fine.” That last seemed to be said mostly to herself.

“Okay… why are you here and how did you find me? My house is Unplottable.”

“The new wards are impressive, but I spent much of my childhood with my Aunt Berga. Remember, this was the House of Black before it was ever your home,” her tone was disdainful, and Harry felt like a bit of an idiot. Of course she’d been here before. She continued, “I came here because I don’t know who did this and you are the only person I can be sure of.”

A series of memories involving all the times he and Malfoy had insulted, punched, or hexed each other flashed through Harry’s mind and he found himself at a loss as to where to begin contradicting her.

Narcissa ignored his incredulous expression. “He was attacked on Malfoy Manor’s grounds.” She paused significantly and gave Harry direct eye contact. “That means, Mr. Potter, that someone entered our estate without my knowledge.”

“How? The Manor has wards doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. And they are still intact. I wouldn’t even have known Draco was attacked if they hadn’t thrown a rock through one of the windows.”

Harry glanced over to the couch where Kreacher was intently examining a cut along Malfoy’s temple. “So, you brought him here to have him patched up?”

“Partly.” She lifted her chin and stated firmly, “he must stay here for a few days.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “What?! No way! You said he’ll be fine!”

“He will be. If he stays here. Safe.” She turned to look at her son. “I will find who did this, I swear it, but I need him to be safe until I do.”

“Safe? Here? You realize we’ve tried to kill each other?” Harry was growing a bit frantic at the idea of _days_ with Malfoy.

“You have also saved each other from death. You pulled him out of that fire. And you can be sure that he knew exactly who you were when the Snatchers brought you to the Manor. Also, never forget, _I_ once saved you as well. Keep Draco safe and your Life Debt is cancelled.”

“You lied to Voldemort to save him,” Harry pointed out, indicating Malfoy. “It wasn’t for my sake.”

“That should tell you something, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord was on the brink of victory. Hogwarts was about to fall. Our side would have won. And I lied. To save my son. There is nothing I would not do for him.” The fierce look on her face made her seem suddenly larger. “Magic doesn’t care why I saved you. It cares that I did. You owe me. Do this, and we are even.” 

Her words had a physical, heavy feeling. The air felt thicker and Harry had the feeling something else was now listening in.

He looked again at Malfoy and warred with himself. Malfoy probably wouldn’t die once Kreacher was done. But Narcissa thought he might be hurt again if he left. Seeing the git every day for several days sounded horrible. He was a nasty brat who had tried to make Harry’s life at Hogwarts miserable. The whole Death Eater thing also held a large amount of weight. One of Harry’s goals in life up until now was to stay the fuck away from Malfoy and his shitty, bigoted decisions.

Ultimately, what decided him was that he couldn’t feed someone to the wolves just because they were an enormous arsehole.

“Fine. Three days.”

The heaviness in the air left and Harry felt a small jolt of… something.

Narcissa nodded to herself and heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. I must go. Kreacher will care for Draco. He will be fine, and I will find who hurt him.”

“And report them to the Aurors,” Harry said forcefully.

“And report _what is left of them_ to the Aurors,” she snarled viciously as she headed for the door. “I will see you in three days.” The door closed behind her.

Harry put his hands over his face and slid down the wall. He stayed there until Kreacher found him.

“Master Harry,” Kreacher interrupted, “the young Master Draco is healed. He should wake soon. I is needing some cloth –”

“Hello? Where am I?” A hesitant and slightly panicked voice came from the sitting room.

Harry groaned and forced himself up. Plastering on what he hoped was a comforting smile, he headed for the sitting room. “Hello, Malfoy,” he greeted.

Malfoy’s eyes widened comically. “You! What are you doing here? Where am I?” He made to stand but stopped and looked down at his blanket covered lap. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Why am I naked?” he asked suspiciously.

Harry backpedaled and waved his hands in the air to dispel the image that last question provided. “You’re at Grimmauld Place. My house. I live here,” he said in a rush, “and, uh, I think my house elf took your clothes off.”

A truly scandalized and horrified expression filled Malfoy’s face.

“To clean you! There was blood!” This was not making Malfoy look less outraged. “Wait, no! Not like that!” Taking a deep breath, Harry open his mouth to try again but couldn’t think of a way to explain that neither he nor his house elf were into blood play with comatose wizards.

Squinting harder, Malfoy then asked darkly, “what the fuck is in your ears?”

Harry clapped his hands to his ears. He’d completely forgotten about the damn Ear-Bugs.

*

Harry told Malfoy he needed to make a call, told Kreacher to find the prat some clothes, and escaped to the kitchen. He stood for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He had a wonderful life. A Malfoy-free life. He tested products for George, went out with his mates, and generally, lived a nice, quiet life. Now, he was saddled with the git _-three days, just three days-_ and was probably going to be an accessory to murder if the look Narcissa had worn as she left was any gauge.

With a final, frustrated rub of his eyes, Harry grabbed some Floo powder. “The Wheezing Wizard!” he yelled as he stuck his head into the fireplace.

A nicely decorated and extremely cluttered room came into view. George stood up from a desk in the corner and smiled as he came over to his side of the fire. “How are the Ear-Bugs? Did they sync with the Brick? Was it too… tinny? To bass-y?”

“Too fucking loud. How do I get the damn things out?”

George tilted his head to the side. “The Bugs are designed to default to the volume of your mind. Maybe the feedback of…? No. The input can’t exceed… Huh, maybe it could. I’m going to need to measure -” He got up and started to head back to his desk.

“George,” Harry interrupted loudly, “How. Do. I. Get. Them. Out?”

“Oh,” he turned back with a surprised expression and continued, “you tap them both at the same time. I thought that would be the most obvious way. User friendly and all.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sarcastically. “I gotta go.”

“Wait, I wanted to ask about the fellyfones with the lines. Do owls travel through the strings? Is that what they’re for? How does that work if there are no strings?”

“Wha – look, I have to go.”

“But what about –”

“Goodbye, George.” Harry pulled his head out of the fire and tapped the Bugs. They fell out. He looked down at the spider-like devices with a grimace. He tossed them onto the kitchen table and sat down heavily. “User friendly, my arse,” he grumbled while staring at the Bugs hatefully.

Kreacher entered the kitchen, humming happily. “Master Draco is much improved. He is needing to rest, and I is making him some good, strong tea.” The elf continued to hum as he gathered items for tea. Obviously, Malfoy rated higher than Harry’s usual guests because Kreacher was setting up a formal tea tray with fancy cups that Harry didn’t even know he had.

The humming broke off as Kreacher looked at Harry sharply. Slowly, he reached deeply into a cupboard and pulled out a new container of tea that looked rather ordinate. “Master Draco is needing _good_ tea.” His tone indicated that Harry usually drank swill.

After a few more moments of puttering around the kitchen, Kreacher addressed Harry again in a softer voice, “I is thinking that Master Harry is also needing good tea.” He placed a cup in front of Harry with a kind expression. “You is looking very upset about Master Draco’s hurting.” He patted Harry on the shoulder and then followed the levitating tea tray out of the room.

Harry stared after the elf for a long moment. He was not upset. He shook his head and took a sip of tea. Not yet ready to face Malfoy again, he drank very slowly.

When his fireplace roared with green flames, he wasn’t sure if he was glad or annoyed.

Ginny stepped out, absentmindedly brushing soot off her dress. “Hi, Harry. Everything alright?” She came to stand next to him and touched his hair.

“I – yeah. Just, right now isn’t a good –”

“Oh, I know. George told me. He said you seemed upset.” She continued to play with his hair and leaned in closer, her breasts pressed against his shoulder.

“I am _not_ upset.”

With a laugh, she said, “well, what George actually said was that bugs couldn’t be the only things stuck in you. I don’t know why you’d have bugs in you, but he made it pretty clear that something large was up your arse. I thought I’d come over to help you relax.” Her eyes smoldered.

“Gin, really, maybe another –” Ginny stopped him with her mouth pressed against his.

“Ah, Miss is here. Again.” Kreacher reentered the kitchen with a scowl.

Ginny scowled back. “Hi, Kreacher. Can you set up tea in the sitting room? Harry and I will be there in a minute, after I’m done saying hello.”

“Tea is already being in the sitting room. It is being _good_ tea.” It was obvious he thought good tea would be wasted on her.

“Oh, well,” she said in surprise. “I’ll go pour us some. Harry, can you grab biscuits?” she said over her shoulder and, without waiting for a reply, she left the room.

Mouth open to say – something, Harry went very still and waited for the inevitable outcry. He didn’t wait long.

“Harry!”

Rushing to the source of the commotion, he found Ginny with her wand trained on Malfoy, who was frozen with a tea cup halfway to his mouth.

“It’s Malfoy! He’s drinking our tea!” She glared at him and his tea drinking ways with venom.

“That is not being your tea,” Kreacher added helpfully.

“Gin, I was trying to tell you –”

“Harry,” she enunciated carefully, “Draco Malfoy is in your house. Drinking tea. While wearing your pajamas.” Her words rapidly picked up pace. “Harry, how could you! Of all the wizards to – It’s Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Put your wand down, he’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?!” she shrieked. “What is he doing here? Malfoy, I swear, if you think – “

Malfoy stood up and Harry saw that he was, in fact, wearing Harry’s favorite pajamas. Harry didn’t think Ginny noticed the slight sway as he stood, but Harry did.

Malfoy curled his lip and drawled, “Weasley, how nice to see you. I’m sure this wasn’t what you were expecting, but –” He cut off with a barely stifled grunt as Ginny zapped him with a Stinging Hex.

“Ginny!” Harry grabbed her arm and dragged her away. “Can I see you in the kitchen?”

She jerked her arm away with a glare and marched out of the room without looking back.

Exasperated, Harry glanced over at Malfoy. “Look, just – Just sit there and drink tea. I’ll be back.”

“I _was_ just sitting here drinking tea. Potter, why the fuck am I sitting here drinking tea? _How did I get here?_ ”

“Argh, give me a minute.” Harry stomped after Ginny.

He found her staring at the fireplace with a rigid posture. Hearing him enter, she turned around with glassy eyes. “That evil, scheming – Harry, he’s a Death Eater!”

“I know! I’m not exactly happy about it either!”

“Then why is he here?” A thought seemed to occur to her. “ _Did he do something to you?_ I’ll kill him.” She snarled and turned back to the kitchen entrance.

“What? No!” Harry pushed his hair back. “Look, I wasn’t expecting this either, but I guess I owe him something. It’s just for a little while.”

“He’s staying here?!” she asked incredulously. She breathed out harshly and looked Harry in the eyes. “Owe him for what? You saved the world. You don’t owe anyone anything. Tell him to leave,” she demanded.

“I promised. You should have seen – He was –” Harry trailed off remembering the blood and Narcissa’s pained expression.

“I don’t care. You can’t trust him.”

“I’m not trusting him. I’m…” Babysitting? Is that what he was doing? Harry’s mind hysterically supplied him with an image of gently tucking Malfoy into a crib and then choking him with a bottle.

Ginny had pity in her eyes as she said, “you’re always trying to help everyone. You can’t save him, Harry. He doesn’t deserve to be saved.” She softly placed her hand on his cheek. “He’ll use you if he can, you know that.” She brought her mouth to his and whispered, “let me save you this time. I’ll make him leave.”

Moving away abruptly, Harry said, “I don’t need saving. It’s fine. Just – please, don’t mention it to anyone.” Narcissa didn’t know who had attacked Malfoy and seemed to have a wide range of suspects.

Anger flashed across her face. “Fine. But I _am_ telling Hermione. Maybe you’ll listen to _her._ ” With that, she took a pinch of Floo powder and disappeared.

Malfoy appeared in the doorway. “Lovers’ spat?”

“I told you to stay and drink tea!”

Mouth tightening, Malfoy said, “I want answers. I waited like a good little boy and now you’re going to tell me why the fuck I’m here.”

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“At least I have a mother.”

Harry threw his hands up. “Oh my God, Malfoy. Shut the fuck up and go drink more tea. If you fall down, I’m not helping you up.”

“I don’t need your help.” His sneer lost some of its effect as he swayed and grabbed onto the doorframe.

“Whatever. I’m going to have some tea. Follow me or don’t.” Harry passed him briskly. He went to the sitting room and sat down. Not on the couch. That would probably need to be burned after suffering Malfoy’s bare arse.

He was taking deep calming breaths and inhaling the scent of a freshly made cuppa when Malfoy rejoined him. Malfoy sat back down on the couch and picked up his abandoned tea cup. He stared at Harry silently.

“Right, so,” Harry began, “what do you remember?”

“I remember waking up naked in a strange house,” _‘you moron’_ was left unsaid. “Before that, I was in the gardens at the Manor.”

“That’s it? You don’t remember anything else?” Harry asked skeptically.

“No. Now can you tell me _why the fuck I’m here?_ ”

Harry sighed and rubbed his temple. “Your mum brought you. You were badly injured, and she doesn’t know who did it to you.”

Malfoy sneered. “My mum would not have – Wait, I was injured?” His eyes widened. “She evoked the Debt, didn’t she?”

Harry nodded.

“Merlin’s balls.” Malfoy rubbed a hand across his face. “I was attacked? How? The wards –?”

“She didn’t know. But I told her you could stay here while she figured it out.”

“Like Hell,” Malfoy stood swiftly and promptly sat back down, holding his head. “I can’t let her – I won’t just sit here!” He tried to stand again and landed on the floor. “Why do I feel so weak?”

Wincing in sympathy, Harry answered, “you were pretty beat up. Kreacher healed you, but the left-over effects will probably take a while to go away. Your mum said you needed to rest.”

Kreacher gently took Malfoy’s cup and re-filled it. “Master Harry is being right. I is removing the head swelling and mending the bones and cuts, but your body is remembering the hurt.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “Kreacher, how did you know how to heal him? Bumps and bruises are one thing, but you’re telling me you healed a concussion and broken bones?”

Kreacher wrinkled his nose and scowled. “I is learning.” 

“How?”

“Kreacher is knowing how to _read._ ” The condescension in his voice was thick.

“Okay, why?”

Looking extremely uncomfortable, he spat, “Dobby is making Kreacher promise.”

Harry’s heart gave a lurch. “Dobby wanted you to learn healing?”

“Dobby is wanting Kreacher to care for Master Harry. Since Kreacher is meeting you, you is being very good at getting hurt until you is finished with Auror training. I is never needing to fix your bones, but I is knowing how.”

Harry’s throat felt tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You is not asking. Kreacher promised to care for Master Harry, not tell him about it,” he said sourly.

Malfoy pulled himself off the floor. “You’re an Auror?”

“No.”

“But if you finished Auror training…?”

“I’m not an Auror.” Harry hoped Malfoy would take the hint and leave the subject alone.

Malfoy, of course, had a thick head and a big fat gob so obviously the complete prat asked, “why not?”

“It’s none of your damn business,” he snapped. Harry took a calming breath and forced himself to say, “I didn’t actually complete the training, so I’m not an Auror.”

“Oh.” Malfoy looked like he was trying to visually dissect a rather weird species of insect.

Harry exhaled heavily. “Look, I’ve told you all I can. You got beat up, your mum brought you here, and she’ll be back in three days to collect you.”

“And what? I just sit here until then? Absolutely not. As if I need _you_ to watch over me.” Sneering, Malfoy rose more slowly this time, barely wavering at all. “I’m leaving. Give me my clothes.” 

Kreacher began twisting his ears brutally. “They is being torn and soiled so badly, Kreacher is not being able to mend them. I is throwing them away.”

Jaw flexing and mouth pinching so tightly his lips turned white, Malfoy arched a sleek eyebrow and turned away from them without a word. His first few steps were cautious and then gained surety as he continued.

Harry was willing to let him go and sarcastically made a grand sweeping gesture toward the door. This was not how he’d wanted to spend his Wednesday afternoon. If the arsehole could make it out the door, surely, he’d be fine without Harry’s help. Malfoy and his stupid pride could fuck right off.

It wasn’t until Malfoy reached the front hall that Harry started to feel uncomfortable. His chest suddenly felt tight and his stomach clenched. Nausea roiled through him and dizziness turned his vision grey, leaving nothing but the remembered sight of Malfoy unconscious and bleeding.

“Malfoy, stop!” Harry stumbled after him, each step alleviating his distress a little more. “The Debt. You can’t leave.”

“Watch me,” Malfoy spat.

“Stay,” Harry panted. “I promised your mum I’d keep you safe. Three days, that’s it.”

Malfoy tilted his head to scrutinize Harry. With a cruel twist of his mouth, he said, “no,” and reached for the doorknob.

Harry reached out and grabbed his hand. “Please,” he said softly, “stay. Your mum thinks they might come for you again. Just stay with me until we know who it was.”

Malfoy’s eyes snapped from Harry’s hand to his face. His expression shifted to something Harry didn’t have a name for but looked a bit like he was either going to punch Harry or vomit. “Fine,” he eventually ground out.

Harry recoiled from Malfoy as he felt that same jolt of… something… he’d felt after agreeing to Narcissa’s terms. Malfoy must have felt the same jolt because Harry saw the same look of open-mouthed shock he knew must be on his own face.

Malfoy recovered first, saying, “congratulations, Potter, you are now fulfilling two Debts for the price of one,” his voice became acidic, “because, _of course,_ the Great Harry Potter can’t even fill Life Debts like a fucking _normal_ person.”

Blinking, Harry waved his hand toward the back of the house and said mechanically, “library is down the hall. Kitchen is that way. Bathroom is up the stairs, first door on your left. Kreacher will make up the guest bed next to it. Dinner is usually around seven. I’m going to my study.”

As he left the hallway, he heard Malfoy mutter snidely, “such a gracious host.”

Harry came out of his daze enough to loudly address Kreacher, irritation heavily lacing his words, “burn the sitting room couch when you get a chance.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry took dinner in his study and slept poorly that night. He was accustomed to sharing the house with Kreacher, but knowing another person was there, his brain kept listening for sounds of confirmation. Malfoy didn’t make much noise. The bathroom door opened and closed a few times and the door to the guestroom creaked once. But Harry _knew_ he was there and listened late into the night despite having gone to bed early.

He woke the next morning to vague recollections of disjointed dreams. He got up and changed out of his second favorite pair of pajamas, realizing he’d need to burn his favorite ones. He opened his bedroom door a crack to see if the coast was clear and then walked across the hall to use the bathroom.

The door opened as Harry reached for the knob. He seriously considered running for the safely of his room before Malfoy would know he was there. His indecision stole precious seconds and suddenly, he was face to face with Malfoy.

Likewise surprised, Malfoy paused before offering, “good morning?”

“’Morning,” Harry grunted. “You finished? I need to piss.”

Nose wrinkling in distaste, Malfoy sidestepped and gestured at the door.

Harry moved passed him and closed the door. After relieving himself, he cleaned his teeth and stared hard into the mirror. _It’s just Malfoy and I am an adult. I can handle Malfoy._ He splashed his face with cold water and reminded himself that he was Harry fucking Potter, Voldemort vanquisher, Master of the Elder Wand, and not a slave to schoolboy rivalries. He squared his shoulders and strode out of the bathroom.

He entered the kitchen with a firm stride and his head lifted. And then he stopped abruptly, caution and apprehension flooding his system.

At his kitchen table, Malfoy sat with a half-eaten plate of eggs, glaring with hostility at an equally hostile Hermione.

“Ah,” she said in a deceptively calm voice, “I was just about to fetch you, Harry.” She turned her burning gaze to him and continued in the same placid way, “I was wondering… Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Alarm bells blared in his mind. Her tone was completely at odds with her question and she very rarely swore. Harry maintained eye contact and slowly moved to the tea set. Maybe if he didn’t make any sudden moves and also pretended to be calm, she wouldn’t attack.

“Hermione,” he said, mimicking her speech, “good morning. I see you’ve met my houseguest. Can I assume you’ve spoken with Ginny?”

“Yes, you can.” Her calm began to tighten. “I had hoped she was wrong, but clearly,” she indicated Malfoy with a sharp wave of her hand, “she was not. I assured her that she must have been mistaken. But here he is, eating breakfast, _wearing your clothes._ ”

“Mine got torn,” Malfoy supplied with a malicious grin.

Hermione made a choked noise and cut her glare back to him. “You vile little –” She cut off abruptly and closed her eyes. Harry was fairly certain she was counting to ten. With visible effort, she turned back to Harry. “What is he doing here?”

Malfoy cut in before Harry could answer. “Oh, Harry didn’t tell you?” Hearing his name out of Malfoy’s mouth was a weird experience and was only made stranger as the arsehole continued with wide-eyed sincerity, “we’re very close now. Inseparable. Best mates, really. He all but begged me to stay with him. I’m shocked he didn’t mention it to you. Maybe it’s because you’re such a –”

Harry did not want to hear the end of that sentence. “Shut it, Malfoy.” To Hermione he said, “it’s a temporary arrangement. He’ll be done here in a few days.”

She looked suddenly ill. “Oh, Harry. How can you _stand_ him?”

Starting to feel oddly offended, he said, “I _am_ an adult, you know.”

Her eyebrows furrowed doubtfully before she said briskly, “alright, this gets me nowhere. The damage is done. Now, how are your parasites?”

“My what?”

A strangled sound came from Malfoy as he tried, and failed, not to spit out his tea.

Hermione shot Malfoy a contemptuous look before answering Harry. “Your parasites. Ginny said something about there being bugs in you. I assume Malfoy has them too?”

“Why would Malfoy –? Ugh, never mind. Ear _buds_ , not _Bugs!_ I was testing a new product. They got stuck.” Harry picked up the Ear-bugs he’d discarded the day before and offered them to Hermione.

She examined them closely, before asking skeptically, “then you’re not infested?”

Malfoy, giant arsehole that he was, decided that this would be a wonderful time to start cackling. “Oh Merlin,” he gasped, “I can’t. They think you –! And me! Oh gods, it’s too –” He stopped trying to talk and wiped his eyes as his giggle fit continued.

“He’s not? You’re not?” Hermione asked sharply.

Malfoy paused and then started cracking up again. “Merlin, no! Can you imagine?” 

“I don’t have bugs.” Harry cringed at how petulant he sounded.

“I want answers. I brought Veritaserum,” Hermione announced loudly.

Malfoy stopped laughing.

“Hermione, is that really necessary?”

“He’s going to tell me what he knows. He’s always been a conniving bastard, you know he has. We need to know why he’s here.” 

“You could just ask!” Harry responded more harshly than intended. He breathed out and started again more quietly, “when he got here yesterday, he was –”

She interrupted him just as harshly, “we need honest answers, Harry. I have a list of questions and he is going to answer them. Ron and I leave for Australia tomorrow. I don’t have time to waste on picking apart lies and half-truths.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I know enough about _him._ ”

“I’ll take the sodding potion,” Malfoy broke in, “ _if_ Potter takes it too _and_ answers the same questions.”

“Fine,” Harry said in exasperation. Malfoy looked surprised and Harry wondered if he’d been trying to bluff.

“Harry, I don’t think –”

“You wanted answers. This is fair, and I can finally have a cup of damned tea.”

Hermione looked uncertain but pulled out a vial and a sheet of parchment from her robes. She pulled two fresh tea cups toward her and put a small measure of clear potion in both.

Harry grabbed the teapot and filled the cups to the brim. He handed one to Malfoy and said, “cheers.” Harry downed his and sat across the table from Malfoy. He poured himself another cup of tea and arched an eyebrow at Malfoy.

Eyes narrowed and mouth tight, Malfoy paused and then downed his cup as Harry had. Harry nodded in recognition and refilled his cup too.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “Malfoy, do you intend to harm Harry in any way?”

“Not at the moment.”

She frowned at his vague answer. “Do you –”

Malfoy shook his head with his mouth firmly shut. “Him now.”

“Fine,” she snapped, “Harry, do you intend to harm yourself in any way?”

Malfoy spluttered in outrage. “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

“He’s right,” Harry sighed. “Just ask me the questions.”

“Harry, I really don’t think –”

“You wanted to do this. Ask the fucking questions.” Harry was losing his patience and his head was starting to hurt. Hermione’s insistence that they use Veritaserum was rubbing him the wrong way. God knew where she’d gotten it on such short notice. He was tired, grumpy, and every woman in his life seemed to think he needed to be protected from himself and his ‘saving-people thing’. He was a goddamned adult, thank you very much.

Hermione clenched her jaw. “Fine. Harry, do you intend to harm Malfoy in any way?”

“Not at the moment.” He grinned tightly at Malfoy who nodded back with a teacup salute.

Looking back to Malfoy in disgust, Hermione asked, “have you lied to Harry since arriving?”

“No.” He looked smug.

“Harry, have you lied to Malfoy since he arrived?”

“No.”

Hermione hesitated before asking forcefully, “why did you come to Harry’s?”

“My mother brought me here.”

“That is an evasion,” Hermione accused scathingly. “You will answer my questions, you horrible –”

Feeling oddly protective, Harry broke in, “it’s not. He didn’t come here. He was _brought_ here.”

She turned to Harry and asked with only slightly less venom, “why was he _brought_ here then? Brought by whom?”

 _Finally,_ Harry thought. “His mum thought he’d be safe here. He was hurt yesterday, and she doesn’t know who did it. Hermione, it was bad. Like, I thought he was dead when they showed up, bad.” Maybe if she understood the severity of the circumstances, she’d stop trying to stab him with her eyes.

Hermione’s face shifted oddly as she turned to scrutinize Malfoy. “Do you know what happened?”

With a shrug, Malfoy said, “no.”

“Harry, do you know what happened?”

“No.”

“Does your mum know what happened to you?” Her tone was just as intense but had lost some of its sharpness.

“I don’t know.”

“She knows he was attacked,” Harry offered, “but I think that’s it.”

Hermione paused long enough that Harry thought this might be the end of the questions. He was caught off guard when Hermione seemed to shake herself and snapped, “have you ever killed anyone, Malfoy?”

Eyes wide in surprise, Malfoy said, “no.”

“Are you currently affiliated with any hate groups?” The sharpness was back.

“You didn’t ask Potter.”

Heart stuttering, Harry softly said, “yes, I’ve killed someone.”

Hermione continued as thought Harry hadn’t spoken and repeated angrily to Malfoy, “are you currently affiliated with any hate groups?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Harry answered before she could ask him or ignore him.

Everything went still, and two sets of eyes widened and stared at Harry in incredulous surprise. Harry shrugged, “I keep tabs on a few people. Seemed the best way to get information.”

Hermione’s eyes finally softened. “Harry, you’re not an Auror.”

“I know that. Next question.” He wasn’t and that was fine. Really.

Clearing her throat, she scanned her paper. “Right. Malfoy, do you believe wizards are superior to muggles?”

Malfoy lifted his chin in challenge. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Harry frowned at her. “Hermione, we have magic. Muggles could never do what we do. They just can’t.”

Hermione’s eyebrows drew down and she stared at Harry for a long moment. She shook her head and said to herself, “this is stupid.” Louder, she said, “Malfoy was attacked, and no one knows who did it. Correct?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Neither of you have parasites?”

Malfoy smirked and Harry groaned, but both answered, “no.”

Lip curling in a very un-Hermione-like way, she announced, “last question. Malfoy, do you have plans to coerce, trick, or use Harry in any way now or in the future?”

“No.”

“Harry?”

“No.”

Wiping her hands on her robes as though she’d touched something dirty, Hermione crumpled up her paper. “Looks like he doesn’t pose an immediate danger. I guess that’s the best I could have hoped for.” She turned to Malfoy and said with deadly intensity, “but if you ever hurt Harry or cross me in any way, I’ll make what your aunt did to me look like a lighthearted tickling.”

Malfoy blanched.

To Harry, she said, “I’ll be back in a week. I’m going to have George check in on you daily.”

“I am capable of looking after myself. Been doing it for years now.”

She glanced at Malfoy and then back. “I sincerely hope you’re right. The Veritaserum should wear off in a few minutes.” With that, she entered the fireplace and was gone.

Into the sudden silence, Malfoy said nastily, “that was enlightening.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said crossly.

“Well, this is going to be a horrible few days. Irate women popping in unannounced whenever they please and expecting me to take any potion they happen to have. Wouldn’t have presumed otherwise, really. They _are_ your self-righteous friends, after all.” He continued babbling caustically, “what shall we do to pass the time between visits? Should we do facials and braid each other’s hair? Want to talk about our feelings? Talk about boys?”

“What are you on about? This isn’t a girls’ slumber party. Should Kreacher check for brain damage?” Harry was only half joking.

Malfoy’s face sobered as he said, “I am extremely surprised Granger would go on holiday after that.”

“It’s not a holiday. Her parents are there.”

“So?” Malfoy asked derisively.

“So,” Harry snapped, “they don’t remember her. She erased herself from their minds to protect them from Voldemort and now they might never recognize her again. And, right before she leaves to try reversing it again, she finds you, of all people, here. Does that make you happy?”

“No.” Malfoy seemed to wilt and went back to his half-eaten eggs. He chewed slowly, swallowed and looked up at Harry. “I like your hair,” he said and then shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “These eggs are delicious.”

Blinking in astonishment, Harry patted his hair. “Maybe I really should have Kreacher check…?”

Malfoy smirked. “I was testing a theory. I was able to lie.”

The Veritaserum. Harry wanted to slap himself on the forehead. He could have asked Malfoy _anything_ in those few short moments. Oh shit, Malfoy could have asked _him_ anything.

Silence fell heavily, and Harry couldn’t think of anything to say or do. He was saved from awkwardness when Kreacher popped into the room.

“Miss is gone? Oh, such a shame Kreacher is missing her.” He scanned the room to make sure Hermione wasn’t lurking anywhere.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let her give you clothes. You don’t have to hide from her.”

“Kreacher is not hiding! Kreacher is being very busy with – with,” he searched for inspiration and failed. “I is being a very busy elf,” he finished insistently.

“Uh huh,” Harry responded as Kreacher banged a plate of lukewarm eggs in front of him.

Malfoy, meanwhile, had picked up the Ear-Bugs and was frowning at them. “So, what do these parasites do?”

Harry made a face. “They play music.”

“Really?” Malfoy’s eyebrows rose in interest. “How?”

A mischievous idea formed in Harry’s mind. Hermione had been pretty rough on him, but Malfoy’d tried to get in a few shots of his own. And Harry wasn’t going to _hurt_ him with his idea.

Trying not to let his grin show, he said, “I’ll show you.” He pushed away his uneaten eggs and gestured for Malfoy to follow him.

In the sitting room entrance, Harry stopped suddenly.

“Kreacher?” he called.

The elf appeared with a pop. “Master Harry is needing something from his _very busy_ house elf?”

“Where is the couch?”

“You is telling Kreacher to burn it.”

“I wasn’t serious!” he exclaimed.

Kreacher frowned at him in irritation. “Master Harry should not be saying things he is not meaning. That couch is being an antique!”

Behind him, Malfoy snorted.

“Ugh,” Harry articulated. Mentally shaking himself, he put the couch out of his mind and set about wiping the smirk off Malfoy’s face. He found his Muggle Brick and held it out to Malfoy.

Not being a complete idiot, Malfoy eyed the Brick suspiciously before taking it. “What is this?”

“It’s like a muggle mobile.” This clearly meant nothing to Malfoy who stared at him without comprehension. Harry continued anyway, “well, it _will_ be like a muggle mobile once the kinks are worked out. It’s a Wheeze’s product George is working on.”

Malfoy’s lip curled.

Before the prat could protest, Harry said, “look, you just put the Ear-Bugs in your ears and then tap the music note with your wand. Ta-da, music plays. Just like magic.”

“These are going to try to eat my brain, aren’t they? Weasley makes gag merchandise.” 

“No!” Harry protested. “George is branching in new directions. They were in my ears yesterday, weren’t they? I’m fine. My brain is completely not eaten.”

Malfoy’s expression said he doubted that very much, but he pulled out his wand anyway. Slowly, he raised the Bugs to his ears and jumped when they crawled in. “If this is a joke, Potter –”

“No, no. Completely safe. Promise.”

“I’m an idiot,” Malfoy muttered as he tapped the music note.

Harry’s eyes lit up with glee as he waited for the sound to assault Malfoy. Nothing happened. “Did you tap the note?”

Malfoy tilted his head, tapped one of the Bugs a few times, and replied, “of course I did. These are actually rather impressive. Bit tinny, but still.”

“It’s not too loud?” Harry asked disappointedly.

“No, the – what did you call them? – Ear-Bugs? They could be more responsive, but the control is passable.” He tapped the other Bug rapidly and shouted, “decent volume range.”

Harry deflated. Stupid Bugs.

Malfoy tapped both Ear-bugs and handed them back to Harry. “I guess the Weasleys might pull themselves out of poverty after all,” he said dismissively.

“Yes, because it’s so much better to be born with money than to actually _earn_ it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It is better,” Malfoy returned archly. “I’ve never had to lower myself to secondhand items or low-quality goods.”

“Says the bloke wearing my clothes,” Harry pointed out. “And how is that money working for you now, with it all spent on reparations and having several vaults frozen?”

“It’s just fine,” Malfoy gritted through clenched teeth. “Our foreign vaults are practically overflowing, you sanctimonious, muggle-loving, arrogant twat.”

“Me, arrogant?” Harry fumed.

“Yes, you!” Malfoy leaned forward, fists clenched. “You think I need you to protect me from your womenfolk? Especially the littlest Weasel?” In a high-pitch, he mocked, “ _’He’s not a threat.’_ I don’t need you to protect me from that bitch Weasley or your bushy-haired know-it-all. What if I am a threat, eh?” He lifted his wand.

“Please,” Harry said scathingly, “I can see your arm shaking. Coward.”

“ _Murderer._ ”

Harry snarled and lunged, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest. He tackled Malfoy to the ground and heard a satisfying _‘oomph.’_ He pinned Malfoy down, pulled his fist back to strike, and yelled, “he was evil!”

A loud bang sounded, and Harry was thrown off Malfoy.

“Oh, Master Harry, you must be trying to be less clumsy.” Kreacher had a hand raised toward them threateningly. “How good of Master Draco to be trying to catch your fall.”

Neither Harry or Malfoy spoke to correct the elf.

“I is so glad Master Harry is bring the young Master Malfoy to the sitting room to rest since he is _bleeding in the head_ only yesterday.” Kreacher’s eyes gleamed. “It would be terrible for all of Kreacher’s hard work to be undone.”

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, trying to regain control of himself, “terrible.”

Malfoy was looking at Harry with wide eyes and wisely continued to say nothing.

“I’m going to my study.” Harry stood and left.

*

Harry sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. His pulse began to slow and rational thought resumed. He shouldn’t have jumped at Malfoy like that. The prat had just been being – a prat. A prat that had been on Death’s doorstep yesterday. Malfoy had always had a knack for saying things that would set Harry off. He was glad Kreacher had intervened when he did.

Unlocking a drawer in his desk, Harry pulled out a stack of files. _Might as well do something useful,_ he supposed. He flipped through the papers with a frown. There was nothing in his correspondences that suggested anyone was targeting Malfoy. Nothing. He’d gone through them all twice last night.

The fact that Malfoy didn’t remember anything about the attack was frustrating. All Harry had to go on was a beating, a rock through a window, and unbroken wards. It could have been muggle supporters, maybe a group looking to right past wrongs?

But Harry should have caught wind of something like that. Under the Veritaserum, Harry had confessed to keeping tabs on a few people – which was true – but he did more than that. Harry had contacts in every faction he could find. His contacts rarely knew it was him, but a few did.

He was not an Auror. He was not a member of the Ministry at all. He knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself from keeping his ears perked. Voldemort had taken control of Wizarding Britain before the Ministry even believed he was back. Nothing like that should never happen again.

With determination, Harry picked up his quill and started writing letters.

*

Three hours later, Harry had left instructions for Kreacher to watch Malfoy and was sitting in a pub in London. It was a newer establishment and on weekend nights, was usually packed full of young witches and wizards. At just after noon on a Thursday, it was almost empty. The 20-something wizard behind the bar was chatting with a pair of smartly dressed witches, and a few blokes huddled around a table next to the empty dance floor.

Harry sipped a blond ale and pretended to not watch the room.

A bell tinkled as a woman entered. Her stylish brown bob matched her large brown eyes and a cute button nose graced her heart shaped face. Glancing briefly around the room, she spotted Harry and made her way over. “Hey Al,” she said as she sat down. “I was surprised to get your owl. I only have a few minutes.”

Harry looked at her with eyes he’d changed to blue, ran a hand through his blond hair, and smiled. Al was the name he’d chosen years ago for his current disguise. “Good to see you, Mary,” he said.

“So, is this a social call or something else?” Her voice was hopeful.

Harry gave a rough chuckle and asked, “can’t it be both?”

Her eyelashes lowered. “Depends. What’s the something else?”

“Nothing much. I was just wondering if you could get some records for me?”

Mary’s eyebrow arched. “What could you possibly want with charity records?”

In truth, Harry wanted them to see if there were any new donors to the organization Mary worked for. If there were, they might be someone Harry hadn’t been watching and might have been the ones to go after Malfoy. So far, none of his letters had yielded any useful information and it bothered him that he hadn’t smelled even a whiff of anything related to the Malfoys.

To Mary, he said, “I’m looking for investors for a new project. Thought I might try to find out who’s willing to donate to a worthy cause.”

“And you’re a worthy cause?” she teased suggestively.

“Of course.” Harry smiled back, raised his glass to her and downed the rest of his drink.

“I have to get back to work, but what are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I think I might be here, care to join me?”

“I’ll be here. I’ll owl you the papers and see you then.” She stood and walked away with an exaggerated sway of the hips.

The bell tinkled as she left, and Harry sat back in his chair, dreading tomorrow night. The bar would be packed, the music would be loud, and he would have to pretend to be interested in Mary. He hated that he would need to deceive her like that, but those records might point him in the right direction and it was the best way to ensure she delivered.

Harry looked into his empty pint and gestured to the bartended. The wizard broke off his conversation with a wink to the witches and sauntered over to Harry.

“Another?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I reckon I could do with another.” It was that or go back to his Malfoy-contaminated house until his next appointment. The less contact he had with the git, the better.

The bartended levitated a fresh pint over and said, “this one’s free, compliments of the pretty ladies at the bar.”

Harry’s eyes darted to the witches and saw that they were looking back with hungry expressions. He blinked rapidly, not knowing how to respond.

Laughing, the bartender said, “don’t look so alarmed. They won’t bite,” he cocked his head to the side in a considering manner. “Unless you want them to.”

“No, I – I don’t. I have a… I mean, it’s complicated, but…”

“No need to explain to me, mate.” He winked and his grin nearly split his face. “I tried telling them you’d not be interested.” His grin turned sly. “I mean, not even that pretty lass you were talking to before had a hope.”

Chagrinned at being caught out, Harry gave a half shrug. He’d have to work on being more convincing tomorrow.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think she could tell,” he said. “I’ll go fend off our lusty ladies over there, shall I?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“My name’s Mark, by the way.” Mark gave one last wink and headed back to the bar.

The two witches stayed a few more minutes before heading for the door. One blew Harry a kiss and he could hear them giggling until the door closed, shutting off their laughter.

Harry nursed his drink over the next half hour before getting up to leave. Mark the bartender gave him a wave and another wink on his way out.

Harry ducked into an alley, removed his disguise and Disapparated.

He reappeared on a country lane leading to a small cottage. The front garden was a riot of overgrown rose bushes and shrubs sporting bright yellow flowers. Harry made his way up the uneven stone path and watched as a group of gnomes scattered across the yard.

Raising his hand to knock, Harry heard a sudden crash and a yell come from inside. “Eustace!” came a muffled shout. “Get your fecking arse off me vase!”

Harry smiled and knocked.

“Come in! Stop standing on me fecking doorstep!”

Entering and closing the door behind himself, Harry smiled at a stately, older witch dressed in beautiful, flowing robes. Her white hair was gathered artfully on top of her head and she reclined elegantly on a tasteful divan. She completely ruined the effect by saying, “the feck do ye want with me now, boy?”

“It’s good to see you, Emilia.” Harry ducked as a blur of green feathers barreled toward his head. “You too, Eustace.”

Emilia clicked her tongue. “Fecking bird. Useless and blind as me late husband, bless his fecking soul.” She waved her wand over a nearby tea set and the kettle immediately started steaming. “Do not just be standing there, my boy. Come pour us some tea and you can tell me what you want.”

“Couldn’t I just be visiting for the pleasure of your company?”

She snorted inelegantly. “Bah. Saucy boy. As pleasant as I may be, I know when someone be wanting something and I’m too fecking old to waste time pretending otherwise.”

Harry nodded in acquiescence and sat down to pour tea. “I’d like to know if you’ve heard anything about the Sacred 28 recently.”

“I’ve heard many a thing. Always do.”

That was what Harry was counting on. Emilia Fawley was a treasure trove of information, gossip, and rumor. Harry was almost glad she’d trapped him into dancing with her a few years ago at Percy’s wedding, even if she had managed to wring him dry of everything he’d witnessed during the Battle of Hogwarts in just those few minutes of awkward shuffling.

“Anything you think I might be interested in?”

“To what purpose? The old families be minding their own fecking business these days. You looking to stir up trouble?” She arched a haughty eyebrow at him.

“No. Actually, I’m looking to stop some trouble for them. One of them got into a bit of trouble on their own and I’d like to know why it happened.” Harry hoped that would be a sufficient answer. He didn’t need Emilia to know about the attack on Malfoy or that the git was currently occupying his guestroom. The clever old witch gathered news from all sources available and Harry was sure he wasn’t the only one she gave information to.

“It’s the Malfoy boy, isn’t it?” Bugger.

“Why would you say that?” he hedged.

Her smile was just shy of condescending. “Narcissa came ‘round for evening tea yesterday. It be a short visit. Fool girl never did like hearing the truth stated plainly.”

It seemed like Malfoy’s mum was grasping at the same straws Harry was. He wished he could have been under his invisibility cloak to witness that conversation. Narcissa’s icy distain pitted against Emilia’s sharp tongue would be a sight to behold.

“What did you tell her?”

“I don’t see how that be any of your fecking business,” she responded bluntly. She sipped her tea daintily to cover a smile and did nothing to hide the challenge in her eyes.

“Emilia,” Harry tried his most winning smile, “I’m trying to help. I would like nothing more than to hear the truth stated plainly.”

She smiled back wickedly. “Ah, Harry lad, if I was but ten years younger…” She’d still be old enough to be his great-great-grandmother and Harry fought not to let his smile slip.

Abruptly switching tactics, Harry said, “you’re right. It’s Malfoy. Draco. He was hurt, and I’d like to know why.”

“Why? His mother be looking for the answer already. Do ye really think you could do a better job of it than her?” She looked far too interested in hearing his reply.

Slowly, Harry said, “I guess I owe a bit of a debt to the Malfoys. I’d like to make good on it.”

“This be having nothing to do with canceling your Life Debt, boy, and you know it,” she snapped with triumph in her eyes.

Harry felt his mouth fall open. “I – How’d you...? Did Narcissa…?”

Emilia cackled gleefully. “She did not say it, but you be confirming it.”

Feeling deflated, Harry said, “Emilia, give me something here. I just want to figure out what happened.”

She considered him for a long moment before setting her tea cup down and asking seriously, “why do you care about the Malfoy boy?”

“I don’t.”

“And yet… here you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Eustace the parrot came flapping over and settled clumsily on Emilia’s shoulder. She reached up to stroke her bird’s feathers while keeping her shrewd eyes on Harry. “Me husband’s name was Eustace. He was an ugly, fecking arse. Always in me way, always saying things he shouldn’t of, always making me want to pack me things up and never look back. Oh, the rows we got into.”

Harry didn’t know where this was going or what he was supposed to say.

“And then he died.” She gave a soft chuckle and her eyes grew distant. “T’wasn’t even me that got to kill him.”

“I’m sorry –”

Her eyes refocused sharply on Harry. “Do not pay me lip service, boy. Take me story and fecking learn from it.” She trailed a finger down Eustace’s wing. “I’ve had eight birds since me husband died, and I’ve named every one of them after him. They all be fecking annoying, talking back, and cause me unending trouble.”

As if on cue, Eustace squawked, “love you.” He bobbed his head up and down rapidly and added, “old bitch.” Emilia looked at him fondly.

Baffled, Harry said, “I’m really not sure what the moral to that story was.”

“Tell yourself that if you need to, boy,” she said enigmatically.

“Emilia, please, do you have anything that would help me?”

She rose and transferred Eustace to a perch. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Narcissa. Trouble is going to follow that boy like a bad smell wherever he goes. Too much history, not enough effort to change a fecking thing. Lately, I haven’t heard much about the boy except that the two of you have quite the history. I thought it’d be you and your lot that went after him. Since the war, he’s kept himself quiet and shut away in that big fecking manor. I can’t help you, boy. Not with this.”

Harry breathed out heavily and set his tea cup on the table. “Thank you anyway, and for the tea. If you do happen to hear anything…”

“Oh, I have me feelers out. Something is in the winds, I can feel it.”

Harry was showing himself out when she stopped him. “And Harry lad? Do be sure to thank me grandniece if you see her again, for that drink she bought you at the pub today.” She winked at him as the door closed in his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry decided to Apparate several blocks from his house and take a long walk home. He mulled over Emilia’s parting words with frustration. She’d known it was him at the pub. Did her grandniece know she’d blown a kiss at Harry Potter or was Emilia playing her cards close to the chest? Was she having him followed? How many aliases did she know about?

It could have been one of the ‘feelers’ she had out. A coincidence. But the old witch was too clever by half. In any case, tomorrow night would probably be Al’s last appearance. It was a shame. Harry liked Al. It was his first disguise and his most well-developed. Slipping new personas into the spaces Al would be leaving in Harry’s network would be difficult.

Harry thought about Eustace too. The daft old bird was apparently the eighth in a long line of daft old birds. Emilia must have been alone a long time now. It made Harry a bit sad to know the origin of the parrot’s name. In the quiet of his mind, Harry could admit he saw a few parallels to her story about Eustace and Malfoy. Annoying, back-talking, and causing unending trouble, indeed.

But mostly, on his walk home, he kept repeating her words to himself. _Something is in the winds._

Harry slowly walked up his front steps and opened the door. Just inside, Kreacher was wringing his hands frantically and intermittently banging his head on the wall.

Instantly alert, Harry asked, “what’s happened?” He slammed the door shut and was hurrying down the hallway before the elf could answer.

“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice came loudly from the sitting room.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Harry’s heart was beating rapidly, and his chest heaved as he came skidding to a stop in the doorway.

Malfoy was sitting in an armchair, a cup of tea balanced precariously on the arm. Books and parchment were strewn over the surface of the table amid little bits of – plastic? Harry scanned for threats and found none.

Eyebrows almost to his hairline, Malfoy just stared at him.

“What happened?” Harry repeated. “Why does Kreacher look like the world is falling apart and he’s responsible?”

Malfoy waved a negligent hand. “That. Nothing. I had a momentary relapse and he wanted to run off and fetch you. I told him I was fine, and look,” he gestured to himself, “I am.”

“A relapse,” Harry repeated lamely. There was a buzzing in his ears.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Now, kindly rein in your magic.” Malfoy rubbed his arms uncomfortably and grabbed the teacup that was now floating by his shoulder.

Harry realized it wasn’t just his adrenalin making it feel like everything was vibrating. It _was._ Books, parchment, and the bits on the table were slowly bouncing their way to the floor. It was like the table had been set on a running muggle clothes dryer.

_Fuck,_ Harry thought, _not again._ He closed his eyes and breathed, willing his pulse back under control. There was no threat, no danger. Everything was okay. Harry opened his eyes as the vibrations slowed to a stop.

“What the fuck was that?” Malfoy was looking at him with narrow eyes and a cautious expression.

“Nothing. Momentary relapse.”

Kreacher peeked around the corner and said, “Master Draco’s illness is lasting for hours while you is away. Kreacher is not being able stop it.”

Another book vibrated off the table and Malfoy shot a glare at the elf. Kreacher disappeared back behind the door with a squeak.

“I’m fine, Potter. It was mild at best. Your house elf fixed me some tea and now I feel fine.” He took a sip as if to prove how totally fine he was. “I don’t know what he added to it, but it worked wonders and I am fine.”

Kreacher poked his head back into the room. “It is just being _good_ tea. Kreacher is not –”

“An Owl came,” Malfoy announced loudly. He shuffled through the fallen parchment and came up with a piece that was folded and sealed.

Taking it, Harry read the short note. “It’s George. He’s coming in,” he glanced at the clock on the mantle, “well, any time now, actually.”

Malfoy’s face soured. “Wonderful.”

“Maybe you should go rest in the guestroom or something.”

“I am _fine._ I don’t need you to mother-hen me.”

“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry looked at the mess on the table and floor. “What is all this?”

A proud, smug smile graced Malfoy’s lips. “I have been so fine, in fact, that I was able to figure out the Ear-Bugs.”

Looking closer, Harry saw that one of the bits looked a lot like a spider’s leg. It gave a twitch. “Oh my god, what did you do? George is going to be _pissed._ ”

On cue, the fireplace roared with green flames and George stepped out. “Harry,” he nodded in greeting. “I hear you’ve pissed off my sister _and_ Hermione.” He turned to Malfoy. “And I hear you’re the reason why.”

Malfoy just sneered.

“Ferret.”

“Weasley Number Four. Or is it Five? Never could tell you all apart,” Malfoy drawled, pretending to examine his nails.

George’s face darkened dangerously.

Harry stepped between the fireplace and the table, hoping to cut their line of sight and prevent George from seeing his dismantled prototype. Having Malfoy almost die again would probably go against the terms of the Debts.

It didn’t work. George looked over Harry’s shoulder and blanched. “Harry,” he said, “are you _trying_ to piss off everyone in the family?”

“No! Look,” Harry waved his hands in a placating manner, “Malfoy was just – ah, well, he was… Actually, I don’t really know what he did. But he’ll fix it! Won’t you, Malfoy?” Harry threw a pointed look over his shoulder.

“I already did.”

George’s eyes bulged. “My prototype is in pieces. How, exactly, is that ‘fixed’?”

“Dividing the spell patterns let me figure out how the overall design was meant to function. Once I understood the arithmantical approach taken I could further break down the patterns and discern their individual properties.” Malfoy prodded a twitching bit with his finger. “Obviously, the legs are used as transmitters, but the narrowness of the conduits alters the overall sound quality.” 

Harry blinked stupidly. George tilted his head consideringly.

Continuing, Malfoy picked up a different bit, “the spell matrix is spread too thin, causing a tinny resonance.”

“Go on.”

“Each leg connects to a different function in the brain, tapping into it, without really using it.” He picked up a book, flipped through it and pointed at a diagram. “Eight connectors are needed, but why use a spider as a model?”

George’s lips twitched. “Ron doesn’t like spiders.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched too. “Makes sense. But Potter said something about buds instead of bugs and that got me thinking.” He dropped the book and held up a hand drawn sketch of a flower covered in incomprehensible squiggles. “This would tighten the matrix while retaining the requisite number of connectors. Not to mention, it’s also more appealing to consumers.”

“Let me see that.” George brushed by Harry and grabbed the parchment. Malfoy relinquished it with smug satisfaction.

“Malfoy,” Harry blurted in surprise, “you’re a _nerd._ ”

“Just because you can’t read a book without Granger there to help you sound out the hard words doesn’t make me a nerd, _moron._ ”

“This would work,” George said in surprise, pouring over the sketch.

“I did say I’d fixed it.”

George glanced up. “Don’t get cocky, your arithmancy doesn’t address the malfunctions Harry encountered at all. I still haven’t found what could cause the defaults to fail.”

Still looking smug, Malfoy said, “it doesn’t need to be addressed. Potter _is_ the malfunction.”

“Huh,” George slowly nodded, “you could be right.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

They both just looked at him.

After a moment, George shrugged apologetically. “Well, I mean… Harry, I looked over all the default settings. Everything in my calculations and spellwork are correct.”

“What he’s saying, Potter, is that your magic is a mess.”

“I think ‘mess’ might be a bit strong,” Harry grumbled.

Eyebrows climbing, Malfoy looked around the room and spread his arms, indicating the jumble of books and parchment strewn over the table and floor. He looked back to Harry and said, “and you unintentionally levitated my tea without a wand or an incantation.”

He might’ve had a point.

George gave a low whistle, “damn, I thought you had that under control, mate.”

“I do. Mostly. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s fine.”

Malfoy snorted.

George considered the sketch again. “I could add dampeners. I’d like to market this to all ages, even little kids who’re showing random bursts of uncontrolled magic. It might hurt business if the wee tykes had an episode like Harry’s.”

Pointing to the base of the flower, Malfoy said, “I’d say three. Here, here, and here.”

“This was cleverly done.” George held out a hand. Malfoy looked at it in surprise before taking it. “You’re still a poncy bastard though.”

“Touché, Weasley Number Four.”

A moment seemed to pass between them before Malfoy let go and cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, why have the Bugs linked to the Brick thing? You could alter the spellwork easily enough to function without it.”

George smiled rapturously. “The Brick is going to be my crowning achievement. It’s going to power entertainment, instant communication, unlimited access to information, and cat images.”

“Cat images?” Malfoy asked dubiously.

“Cat images,” George confirmed succinctly. “Portable, loops lasting much longer than photographs can manage, with _sound._ ”

“How are you going to stabilize the magic needed for all that?”

“Still trying to figure that bit out,” George said ruefully.

“You know,” Malfoy said thoughtfully, “I think I saw a book in Potter’s library…” He started walking toward the door but paused on the threshold. Looking back, he said, “it was weirdly nice to see you, Weasley.”

“Same here, Ferret.”

As he rounded the corner, Harry heard him command, “Elf, come assist me.”

Malfoy’s footsteps retreated down the hall before George looked at Harry with a serious expression. “I’ve been filled in on the relevant parts. You’ve stepped in it this time, mate.”

Harry covered his face. “I know.”

“Ginny and Hermione are furious.”

“I know.”

“Ginny wanted to take you into St. Mungo’s to check for potions or compulsion spells.”

Harry groaned into his hands.

“I think Hermione wanted to actually punch you in the face.”

Lowering his hands, Harry tried to joke, “I could take her.”

“I dunno. Five galleons says she could lay you out.” George grinned crookedly for a moment. “Seriously though Harry, what are you doing? Last I knew, you hated him.”

“I don’t _hate_ him. I don’t _like_ him, but I don’t hate him either.” Harry contemplated the floor. “I think he almost died yesterday. The War is over. No one should be dying.”

“I agree, but he made a lot of shitty decisions and pissed off a lot of people.”

“I know that.”

Hesitantly, George said, “Hermione mentioned your saving-people-thing.”

Irritation prickled Harry’s skin. “I’m not trying to save him. He’d probably hex me if I did.”

“Probably. Touchy arsehole, that one is. Not quite as horrible as I remember though,” George mused.

Harry gave a small smile. “Thanks for not, you know, interrogating him with regulated substances or flinging Stinging Hexes at him.”

“Oh, I thought about it. If he hadn’t had this schematic drawn up, I’d have turned him into a ferret again for fucking with my product.” His grin was vicious.

“I had no idea he was going to do that. I only left him unsupervised for a few hours.”

George laughed, clapped Harry on the shoulder and mourned, “it’s a shame I’ll need to abandon the spider design. Ron shrieked when I tried to show him how to use them.”

“You tried to shove them in his ears, didn’t you?”

“Sure did.”

They laughed for a minute and then Harry sobered. “Really, though. Thanks for not being a dick about this.”

“I,” George straightened the collar of his robes with mock self-importance, “am a businessman. I know you have to work with people you might not like or agree with. Just don’t get obsessive this time. You were pretty annoying in your sixth year.”

“I was right though! He _was_ up to something!”

“Still. That map was for pranks, not stalking.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave George’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks. Really.”

George went to the fireplace and Harry followed him over. “If he does anything stupid, I’ll hold the knives while Ginny and Hermione take turns skinning him alive.” He took a pinch of Floo Powder. “Bill and Fleur are taking Victoire over to Mum’s tomorrow afternoon. You should stop by. Mum hasn’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll probably need to get away from Malfoy anyway.”

“See you tomorrow.” With a grin, he disappeared in a burst of green flame.

*

Malfoy stayed in the library for the rest of the afternoon. That suited Harry perfectly fine. He was able to respond to the letters he’d gotten back from his contacts and go over the records Mary had sent over. Nothing new, but he was still hopeful that some bit of important information would turn up. By the time dinner rolled around, he felt he’d been very productive.

Bringing books and parchment with him, Malfoy joined him in the kitchen. While Kreacher cooked, it was silent except for the sound of flipping pages and the occasional _scratch_ of Malfoy’s quill.

When the quiet became too much for Harry, he asked, “so, how are you feeling then?”

Malfoy didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“But you weren’t. While I was gone. Earlier.”

“It was nothing. I’m fine now.”

“Yes, but -”

“Potter,” Malfoy slapped his quill onto the table and finally looked up, “I. Am. Fine.”

From the stove, Kreacher piped up, “Master Draco is having shortness of breath, he is vomiting twice, and is clutching his head several times.”

“Tattle-tell,” Malfoy hissed.

“That doesn’t sound like nothing,” Harry accused. “Your mum didn’t want to take you to St. Mungo’s, but if Kreacher couldn’t do anything to stop it…”

“No. His tea worked, and it hasn’t happened again.” Malfoy’s tone brooked no argument.

Harry was going to argue anyway. “Yesterday, you had broken bones and your brain was bleeding. What if Kreacher missed something when he was healing you?”

“I’m sure he was thorough,” Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth.

“You could have died!”

“I didn’t.”

“You still could!”

“Why do you care?!”

There was that fucking question again.

With intensity, Harry said, “I promised your mum -”

“Oh, fuck off, Potter! Your Debt doesn’t include hand-holding and hen-pecking.” Malfoy’s lip curled with derision.

“I’m pretty sure it does include making sure you don’t die because you’re too stupid to listen to me!”

“I’m not going to die!”

“Everybody dies!”

In the sudden silence, Harry realized they were both standing and had been yelling across the table, faces barely a foot apart. Malfoy’s jaw was now hanging open, for once at a loss of something to snap back.

Harry pushed his chair back with a loud scrapping noise. “You’re right. I don’t care,” he lied.

He left the kitchen stiffly, continuing all the way to his bedroom where he slammed the door behind him.

A short while later, Kreacher appeared with a covered tray of food. Without looking at Harry, he whispered softly, “I is keeping a close watch on Master Draco’s condition. I is not letting him die. We is keeping him safe, you and Kreacher. It is being okay to care.”

Harry stared at him for a moment and then whispered back, “thank you, Kreacher.”

The elf bowed and disappeared with a faint pop.

*

Harry slept poorly. Again. He’d tossed around for hours, punched his pillow several times, and could not find a comfortable position. Malfoy kept creeping into his thoughts as soon as he began to drift into sleep. Did the arsehole not care if he died? The stupid, buggering git was smarter than that. He’d been trying to ignore his ‘relapse’ and somehow still managed to dissect the Bugs _and_ improve them. He did it while, apparently, struggling to breathe and occasionally vomiting. Fucking idiot.

Harry’s thoughts chased each other until light began seeping through his window. Finally, he’d fallen into a deep, if troubled, sleep. He stayed asleep until noon, waking to daylight in his eyes. He showered and dressed without bumping into Malfoy and was glad of it.

When Harry trudged into the kitchen, Malfoy was there holding a half-eaten sandwich while leafing through one of half a dozen books littering the table.

Malfoy looked up as Harry sat down. He swallowed his bite thickly and gingerly set the sandwich down. “Ah,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Potter, it seems I may have been a bit overly dismissive last night.”

Harry gazed at him passively in stony silence.

Malfoy spoke while addressing a spot just above and to the left of Harry’s head, “your elf told me about the condition I arrived in. And it seems that was _after_ my mother healed what she could.”

More silence from Harry and it seemed to bother Malfoy, so he kept it up.

“So, I guess I can understand your _concern,_ ” Malfoy’s mouth twisted on the word, “after I was left here in such a state. So, sorry, I guess,” he finished clumsily and without much sincerity.

Kreacher appeared with a pop and smiled brightly at Malfoy. “Kreacher will put on a pot of good tea.” He took the pot already on the table and dumped it’s almost full contents down the sink. “There is being no need for this one anymore.”

Harry fought a smile. “Kreacher, were you withholding the good tea until Malfoy apologized?”

Kreacher put a hand to his chest in a gesture Harry almost believed was outrage. “Would Kreacher do something like that?” The tiny smirk he wore said he would.

“He bloody well would,” Malfoy grumbled, not quite under his breath. Malfoy Vanished the tea in his cup and said, “I wouldn’t offer that swill to an American and they don’t know shit about tea. Did you know? They sometimes drink it cold. On _purpose._ ” He looked disgusted.

Harry almost managed to swallow his laugh.

Malfoy made eye contact for the first time that morning. “I’m still not going to Mungo’s.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Malfoy held up a hand, quickly saying, “I get that I was badly injured. I get it. Your evil minion made that abundantly clear. But I’ve been fine all day. Really. A few moments of mild lightheadedness. That’s it.”

Harry looked to Kreacher for confirmation and got an affirmative nod in response. The elf set the newly brewed tea on the table and said, “I is looking again for any swelling or inside bleeding and isn’t finding any.”

Malfoy grabbed the teapot gleefully and poured himself a cup. He was about to set it back down when he glanced at Harry. With extreme nonchalance that was obviously fake, he summoned another cup and filled it too. Then he roughly shoved it across the table, sloshing tea over the sides as it stopped in front of Harry.

“Thanks.” Harry was pretty sure that didn’t come out as a question.

With half a shrug, Malfoy gave a grunt and retreated behind a book with his own tea.

The next several minutes were passed in amicable silence.

Harry finished his tea and stood. “I’m going to the Weasley’s. Should be back in an hour or so.”

From behind his book, Malfoy said, “if you see him, tell the Weasley from yesterday to read Mauss’ Theory of Qualitive Binding of Compulsory Acquisition. I think it shows promise for solving his Brick problem.”

_“Nerd.”_

_“Moron.”_

Smiling, Harry left.

*

Harry entered the Burrow from the back garden and was immediately tackled around the knees. “Uncle Harry! Grandmum! Uncle Harry is here!”

“Hello, Victoire.” He scooped her up and gave her a toss into the air. “How is the most beautiful princess in the world today?”

She shrieked in delight and giggled when Harry tossed her again.

“Harry, put the baby down, she’s not a quaffle,” Mrs. Weasley scolded as she entered the room.

“I am _not_ a baby! I’m four!”

“Of course not, dear. Harry! It’s good to see you.” She enveloped him in a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Mrs. Weasley. I just wanted to stop by and see my favorite princess.” He winked at Victoire.

“Thanks for coming to see me, Harry,” Bill said, flipping his hair effeminately.

“Oh, stop zat,” Fleur smacked her husband on the arm, “you arr not a princess.” Bill pouted at her. “You arr my king.”

Harry looked away from their exchange of heated gazes back to Mrs. Weasley who had _not_ looked away and wore a happy, wistful expression. She caught Harry’s eye and whispered, “I’m going to have another grandbaby within a year, mark my words.”

“Mum,” George said, coming around the corner, “ew.”

“Hush, you. Everybody, sit at the table and I’ll whip us up something to eat.”

They all sat, and Harry turned to George. “Before I forget, you should read Mouse’s Theory of Binding Quantities of Acquisition Compulsions.”

With a lopsided smile, George said, “that cannot be right.”

“Mauss’ Theory of Qualitive Binding of Compulsory Acquisition,” Bill said. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “that.”

Bill gave him an odd look. “I’m familiar, but I have to say, I’m surprised you’ve heard of it.”

“What is it?” George asked.

Fleur answered, “zee theory hypothesizes zat, with zee correct combination of matrices, it iz possible to harness ambient magic and store it based on a running algorithm of consumption. Zee Egyptians tried and failed to use a more… primiteeve version of zee theory to keep zair pyramids intact in perpetuity.” 

“I love it when you talk smart,” Bill gushed as he pulled Fleur in for a long kiss.

“Gross.” George wrinkled his nose at his oldest brother. To Harry, he said, “that’s fucking brilliant.”

“George!” Mrs. Weasley yelled from the stove. “The baby can hear you!”

Victoire stamped her foot. “I am _not_ a baby!”

George started asking questions in rapid succession, none of which Harry even understood. Thankfully, Bill and Fleur knew their stuff and rattled off answer after answer.

They were debating the merits of something-or-other when Harry looked out the back window and saw Kreacher bobbing anxiously. The elf was trying to communicate with a series of head jerks and widening of his eyes.

“Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley called, “isn’t that Kreacher? Oh my, he seems quite upset. Is everything alright?”

Harry sprinted for the back door. He grabbed Kreacher by the shoulders and demanded, “same as yesterday?”

Kreacher nodded forcefully, looking relieved.

Harry burst back through the door. “Mrs. Weasley, I need to use your Floo.”

“Of course, dear. But what’s happened?”

“There’s – I have to – Doxies,” Harry lied wildly. “Doxies are shredding my upholstery. I have to go. Right now.”

Harry ran for the fireplace and threw himself in almost before the Floo Powder could touch the flames. His kitchen resolved before him in a flash of green and he was spit back out.

Malfoy was on his knees, holding his head.

Harry rushed forward, dropped down and grabbed his hands. “Malfoy! Malfoy, are you -”

Malfoy let Harry pull his hands away from his temples and met his eyes. The pain in them receded rapidly and was replaced with intense relief and then profound dismay.

“ _Fuuuuuuck,_ ” he said with feeling. “It’s not your Debt.”

Behind him, Harry heard his fireplace roar to life.

“Harry James Potter, I you think you can lie to m – Oh.”

The fire roared again, and George stepped out. “Mum, you can’t just – Oh. Everything alright, Harry? Ferret?”

Again, the fire leapt to life. “Party at Harry’s, eh? Oh.” Harry noticed that Bill had come with his wand at the ready.

Harry had no idea what to do.

George came to his rescue. “Heeeey, everyone,” he said with badly faked cheerfulness, “meet Draco Malfoy, who is staying with Harry for a few days.”

Silence.

“I’m not sorry I killed your aunt,” Mrs. Weasley blurted.

Malfoy looked up at her with wide, surprised eyes. “She was trying to kill your daughter at the time. So. Understandable, really.”

“Oh. Alright then.” She seemed to be at a loss for a moment and then rallied with, “I have a lovely tart that is almost ready. Would you like to come by and have some?”

Malfoy blinked. “I – Yes, okay.”

“Wonderful. I’ll just… pop back home then.” Mrs. Weasley gave George a very significant look before disappearing back through the fireplace.

Bill followed after her without a word.

George gave a put-upon sigh. “Doxies, Harry? Really?”

“I panicked.”

Shaking his head in bemusement, George left.

Less than five minutes later, Harry was at the Weasley’s kitchen table again, eating lemon tart while sitting next to Draco Malfoy and he was actually enjoying it.

Victoire was already on her second helping and asking a thousand questions. “Are you part Veela too?”

“I… don’t think so?” Malfoy was the unlucky subject of all her questions.

“Really? Are you sure? Do you dye your hair then?”

Harry tried very hard not to snort lemon tart out of his nose.

“How d’you know Uncle Harry?”

“We met at Hogwarts,” Malfoy answered carefully.

“Oh! You’re childhood friends!”

Malfoy looked to Harry for help. Harry had no help to offer.

“Me and Teddy are childhood friends. Did you know he’s your cousin?”

“He is?”

“Oh yeah. Teddy told me. He’s kinda funny about his family, you know, ‘cause they’re all mostly dead.”

“Victoire!” Fleur exclaimed.

“They _are._ Are you going to his birthday party? He’s going to be five!” She held up her hand to show how many that was.

“I don’t believe I’ve received an invitation,” Malfoy said faintly.

Mrs. Weasley set another piece of tart in front of Victoire. “Of course you’re invited, dear. He’s your cousin.”

“Oh, well then… I – I suppose I -”

A door slammed in the front of the house. “Mum! Do I smell lemon t -” Ginny froze in the doorway, taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy, eating her favorite desert, at her family’s table. “Oh _hell_ no.”

Harry hastily stood. “I think it’s time we headed back. Thank you for having us over, Mrs. Weasley.”

Ginny was livid. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Ginevra Weasley!”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Malfoy said. “The tart was delicious.”

“You’re welcome. Do come back to visit sometime. Feel free to use the Floo on your way out,” she said with a smile that quickly became a severe frown, “and don’t you glower at me, Ginny. I am your mother.”

Ginny stood her ground and refused to move the rest of the way out of the entrance. Not wanting to cause a scene, Harry edged around her as quickly as he could. Malfoy did the same but paused in the small space to stare her in the eye with a carefully blank face. The tense moment passed as Malfoy turned away dismissively. 

Malfoy continued walking until he’d passed Harry. Harry looked back at Ginny just in time to see her wand twitch in Malfoy’s direction. Without pausing to think, Harry stepped between them and jerked as a Stinging Hex hit him full in the chest.

Hearing Harry’s grunt of pain, Malfoy turned around to look incredulously from Ginny’s horrified face, to her wand, and then to Harry. Malfoy’s face twisted viciously as understanding struck, and he took a step toward her. Harry grabbed his arm tightly and shook his head.

Miraculously, Malfoy stopped. He firmly pushed Harry toward the front room and deliberately placed himself back between them, glaring at Ginny with challenge.

Ginny dropped her gaze first and Malfoy sneered in disgust.

Keeping his hand clamped on Malfoy’s arm like a vise, Harry led him the rest of the way into the front room and to the fireplace.

“You first,” Harry muttered, handing him the Floo tin.

Malfoy took it wordlessly and, in a moment, he was gone.

Harry looked back toward the kitchen and saw Bill quietly leaning against the wall in a spot that would have afforded him a perfect view of the silent altercation that had just happened. The oldest Weasley brother was considering him with a thoughtful expression. Harry gave him a shrug and stepped into the Floo.

*

When Harry stepped into his kitchen, he saw that Malfoy was clutching his head.

“Again? Are you alright?”

Malfoy looked up and his eyes cleared. “Yes. Fine now.” His eyes narrowed as he asked accusingly, “why did you take that hex?”

“You relapsed again less than an hour ago. Do you really think you needed another Stinging Hex on top of it?” Harry snapped in exasperation.

“About that…” Without finishing, Malfoy started pacing.

“About what?”

He ignored Harry and continued back and forth several times. Abruptly, he stopped and whispered tensely, “we had it wrong.”

“What?”

“ _It’s not your Debt,_ ” he declared forcefully. “I haven’t been relapsing. I was fighting a Debt and didn’t even realize it.” 

That didn’t make any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“What _exactly_ did you promise to my mother?”

Slowly, Harry said, “she wanted you to stay here. I said you could.”

“Your _exact_ words.” Malfoy was looking at him hard and had a half-mad glint in his eye.

Harry frowned in concentration as he tried to remember. An image of Mrs. Malfoy looking fierce and powerful emerged in his mind.

“ _’Keep Draco safe and your Life Debt is cancelled.’_ ” Harry quoted. “I agreed to three days and then felt the Debt hit me with some weird… feeling.”

Shoulders slumping, Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Before you agreed, but after she stated her terms, what did you feel?”

“It was… the air felt heavy. I felt like someone was watching me,” Harry described. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Hopefulness tinged Malfoy’s voice as he asked, “did you feel any of that when the second Debt activated? Right before I agreed to stay with you?”

“Huh,” Harry realized, “no. Only the weird zappy feeling when you stopped trying to leave.”

Malfoy’s face fell. “Merlin’s saggy fucking testicles,” he swore as he started pacing again. “Before you tried to stop me from leaving, how did you feel then?”

“Uncomfortable. And then really fucking awful. I thought I was going to be sick. My chest hurt, and… I felt…dizzy.” Realization dawned on Harry.

Malfoy locked his eyes with Harry’s. “ _’Stay with me until we know who it was.’_ That’s what you said. And I agreed. I’ve felt ‘really fucking awful’ twice. Both times it was when you left here without me. I was completely better as soon as you were back.” With the resignation of a condemned man, he intoned, “it’s _my_ Life Debt. And I didn’t set a time limit to mine.”

_“Fuuuuuuck.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, just wanted to say thank you for all of the positive feedback and especially for the comments on the last chapter! I'm a total slut for praise.
> 
> From here on out, updates may become more erratic. I will try my best to keep posting new chapters each week, but Life has recently decided to punch me in the face. To be perfectly honest with you, I've fallen into one of my least productive defense mechanisms and have been using escapism to deal. I have re-watched 6 seasons of Supernatural so far and probably won't reemerge until I finish a at least few more.
> 
> I hope to update next week with sexual tension, bickering, and plot. See you soon!

Harry was pacing now. Back and forth, back and forth, his mind whirling. What if Narcissa turned up tomorrow without an answer? Harry found himself fervently hoping that she had a wider net of contacts than he did. But how likely was that? Keeping informed was what Harry _did._ Journalists from the Prophet, store clerks, business owners, Ministry workers, petty thieves, backroom brewers, nosey old ladies… Harry had lines of connection to all of them and more. And he’d come up with… nothing. What could Narcisa possibly find that he couldn’t?

Back and forth, back and forth. Three days had just become an indefinite amount of time. He couldn’t even leave his house by himself without Malfoy collapsing. How was he going to figure this out? How was he going to meet with contacts?

He stopped pacing abruptly. “Fuck. I have to Owl Mary. I can’t meet her at the pub tonight.”

Malfoy looked up from where he’d been sitting at the table with his head in his hands. His miserable expression changed to surprise. “You have a date?” he smirked. “Whatever would the littlest Weasley think?”

“It’s not a date,” Harry muttered sourly.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow. “You’re meeting a woman named Mary at a pub. Drinks? Music? Sounds like a date.”

“Fuck off. I have to cancel now anyway.”

“Don’t be so hasty, Potter.” Malfoy cocked his head thoughtfully. “You know, I could use a stiff drink… or twelve.”

“No way. That is a terrible idea. What if your attackers find you there?”

Warming to the idea, Malfoy said, “don’t be stupid. I won’t go as me. You can go on your date and I’ll find a nice quiet corner to drown myself in.”

Harry hesitated. He needed to question Mary. There might not be any new donors, but what about volunteers? New employees? Was there an uptick in people requesting the charity’s resources? Desperate people did desperate, stupid things.

Sensing Harry’s waning reluctance, Malfoy cajoled, “come on, Potter. Just a few hours. I need a bit of fun after the last two shit days. I won’t even tell the Weaselette you’re a lecherous hedonist with wandering eyes.”

Harry sighed in defeat. “Alright.”

Malfoy smiled with triumph, a gleeful shine to his eyes. “This is going to be hilarious. Merlin, I hope she wants you to dance.”

Already regretting his decision, Harry went to his study. He had more pacing to do in-between frantically going through his files again and composing more letters.

Harry came back downstairs at seven wearing his Al disguise for the last time. He found Malfoy in the sitting room and, so as not to startle him, quickly said, “it’s me.”

“Of course it’s you.” Malfoy was squinting at him funnily. “What the fuck happened to your hair?”

“I changed it.” Harry reached up to touch his now blond hair.

“I can see that.” Malfoy’s lips quivered. “Why in Merlin’s name would you do that right before a date?”

“She doesn’t know I’m Harry Potter. This is my disguise,” he explained slowly.

“That is _not_ a disguise. That looks like a potions accident.” Malfoy stood and approached Harry to inspect him critically. “Who’re you supposed to be then?”

He put on Al’s most winning smile and said charmingly, “Albert Humble, entrepreneur and business investor. Friends call me Al.”

Malfoy burst into laughter. “Albert Humble?” he chortled. “No, you’re Harry Potter with off-white hair. Can you be any more obvious? Has this disguise actually worked on anyone?”

“Yes,” Harry asserted indignantly, “loads of people.”

Malfoy was still laughing his stupid head off.

“I got top marks on every practical for Disguise and Concealment while I was in training,” Harry declared, feeling rather insulted.

“You have an Invisibility Cloak,” Malfoy pointed out, “bit hard for others to compete with that.”

“Whatever. Can you just change so we can go?”

“It’s only seven.”

“And?”

“Pubs aren’t fun until at least ten o’clock,” Malfoy stated like it was obvious.

Harry was sure the music would be blaring and the crowd mostly drunk by ten. That did not sound fun. He scowled.

“And we can’t go until I fix,” he waved his hands at Harry expansively, “ _this._ I will not be seen with you looking like that.” He advanced on Harry with his wand. “At least you changed your eyes and covered up the scar. Now hold still.”

Harry tensed every time Malfoy cast. It was an old reflex and Harry wasn’t completely convinced that Malfoy wouldn’t curse him bald or give him warts just to be an arse.

After long minutes, Malfoy finished with his hair and nodded in satisfaction. Distractedly, he brought a hand up to tilt Harry’s jaw. Malfoy’s fingers were steady and warm on his face, his eyes focused while he studied Harry’s angles. He muttered a few soft spells and then ran his hand up Harry’s cheek, smoothing over the tingly places he’d spelled. His thumb glided over Harry’s cheekbone in what felt like a caress and Harry uncomfortably cleared his throat.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped to Harry’s and widened. He stepped back sharply and said, “that should do.”

“Thanks,” Harry said awkwardly.

They stood in silence for a moment before Malfoy offered, “you still make a terrible blond.”

Harry smirked. “No worse than you.”

Malfoy lifted his chin haughtily and said, “bollocks. I have a refined beauty you could only dream of.”

“Sure, Malfoy.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I think I smell beef stew. We should probably eat before we go. Wouldn’t want Kreacher to think his efforts aren’t appreciated.”

“He might hide the good tea again,” Malfoy speculated darkly.

Together, they went to the kitchen. Kreacher glanced over from where he was placing two bowls on the table and did a doubletake. “Master Harry!” he exclaimed. “You is not looking like you.”

“Why do you make that sound like a good thing?”

Malfoy smirked. “Kreacher, does Potter have any clothes that actually fit him and don’t look secondhand?”

“Kreacher is maybe finding some,” he said doubtfully.

“My clothes fit fine,” Harry protested, “and they’re not secondhand, just… well-worn.”

Harry got an arched eyebrow in return. “Potter,” Malfoy said, “I’m taller than you and your clothes are too big for _me._ ”

“Not much taller,” Harry grumbled.

“Find what you can,” Malfoy ordered Kreacher, “and put them in my room. I’ll be up in a few minutes to put something together.”

Kreacher vanished and Malfoy set to his stew expeditiously. He dropped his spoon into an empty bowl and stood only minutes after he’d sat down. “If you think Albert Humble is something, wait till you see me,” Malfoy said with a mischievous smile as he moved to leave the room.

“We’re leaving in an hour,” Harry yelled as he heard Malfoy bounding up the stairs.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Harry was in the sitting room, idly flipping through a pile of Malfoy’s notes on the new Ear Bud design while bouncing his leg with impatience.

Finally, he heard footsteps on the stairs. When Malfoy entered the room, Harry felt his jaw drop.

“Albert Humble,” Malfoy said grandly, “meet Harvey Porter.”

Malfoy had spelled his hair black. He’d styled it in short, soft waves that looked tousled without being messy. It caught the light when he moved and shone softly. He’d even altered his eyebrows to be darker and fuller. Small changes to his face gave him a stronger jaw and a dimple in his chin.

“What do you think?” Malfoy asked, giving a little twirl to show off his outfit. It fit perfectly. Black trousers, that Harry hadn’t known he’d had, and a deep green long-sleeved shirt hugged his body closely.

“At least you didn’t spell your eyes green, _Harvey._ ”

Laughing, Malfoy threw a wad of clothing at him. “Go change, _Al._ You’re going to make us late.”

Harry gaped at his sheer nerve but got up to go change anyway.

Once in his room, Harry caught sight of his reflection for the first time since Malfoy had changed his disguise. His hair was a light honey color and, for once, lay smoothly on his head. It looked soft and thick. The changes Malfoy had made to his face were subtle and Harry was relieved to note that he wasn’t sporting any warts.

He undressed quickly and examined a pair of dark blue jeans and a black, V-neck t-shirt Malfoy had chosen for him. The jeans were a tight fit and Harry had to wiggle ridiculously to get them all the way up. The shirt was worse, and Harry suspected that it might actually be Teddy’s.

He managed to squeeze himself into the clothes and headed back downstairs. Entering the sitting room, he tried not to whine as he complained, “these don’t fit.”

Malfoy was looking at him with huge eyes. “They fit,” he said succinctly.

“I couldn’t even get pants on under these.” Harry was definitely whining.

Malfoy’s mouth did a funny thing that made him look a bit like a fish. He coughed and asked, “you’re not wearing pants?”

“No. And it is not very bloody comfortable either.”

Shaking his head, Malfoy said, “come along, Al. You’ve a lady to woo and I’ve a pub to drink.”

*

The music could be heard even from outside the pub. It came louder every time the door opened for groups of wizards and witches to enter or exit. A small huddle of people stood to the side of the door, talking loudly and ringed by a hazy cloud of smoke.

When Harry entered with Malfoy, he could feel the bass in his chest. A few heads turned their direction and followed them as they made their way inside. Feeling self-conscious, Harry reached up to pat his hair.

“Don’t fuck with your hair,” Malfoy yelled into his ear. “I’m going to the bar.” He slipped through the crowd and disappeared.

Harry found himself standing alone. He glanced around and saw that a few people were still staring at him. A couple of them wore speculative looks and Harry fought the urge to pat his hair again.

He pushed through the crowd for a few minutes before finally finding Mary at a small table near the dance floor. She was idly pushing ice around in her mostly empty glass as Harry sat next to her.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Harry said with Al’s bright smile.

Mary looked up from her drink and her eyes widened. “Worth the wait. You clean up nice, Al.” Her eyes roved over Harry appreciatively.

“Thanks. I had a little help,” he admitted, hiding a twinge of irritation that Malfoy had apparently improved his disguise so well. “You look lovely as always.”

She did look lovely. The maroon dress she wore was simple and snug around her waist and hips with ample cleavage displayed by a deep neckline. She’d done something to give her hair loose curls and her makeup made her eyes look larger and her mouth plumper.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“How’s work?” With any luck, Harry could get the information he needed quickly, make his excuses, and get out of there.

“Oh, fine. Did you get the files I sent over?”

“I did. Thank you for that,” Harry smiled at her. “So, nothing exciting at work? New co-workers? Any volunteers mucking things up?”

She gave him a funny look and said, “I don’t think so? I’m down in Accounting. Nobody ever volunteers for that.” Mary gave a little laugh and leaned forward, her breasts rounding further as she breathed deeply. “How about you? What kind of business venture are you getting into?”

“Nothing much. The details are boring,” Harry evaded. He leaned forward as she had and said, “I’d much rather talk about you.”

Her smile became seductive and she placed a hand on his arm where it was resting on the table. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about –”

_THUNK._

Harry startled as a heavy glass was thumped onto the table.

“First round’s on me,” Malfoy said, holding a shot and taking the seat next to Harry. “I’m Harvey. Harvey Porter. Al’s told me all about you.” He extended a hand past Harry toward Mary. “Nice to meet you.”

Mary shook his hand uncertainly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Harvey,” Harry said pleasantly while shooting eye daggers at Malfoy, “what are you doing over here?”

“After you told me so much about Mary here, I just had to meet her.” Malfoy smiled handsomely at Mary.

“Oh?” Mary’s smile was back in place. “And what did he say about me?”

“Well,” he said as he leaned passed Harry, “he didn’t do your beauty justice.”

Mary blushed and asked, “how do you know Al?”

“We’re old chums from way back. Poor bastard can’t even do his hair without me.”

Laughing, Mary said, “so you’re responsible for this?” She indicated Harry’s head.

“What can I say, my hands are magic.”

This was unbelievable. Malfoy was flirting with his date! Not that this was a date. But Malfoy thought it was and he was smiling and giving come-hither looks to Mary and talking about his magic hands. Fucking arsehole! He was totally ruining Harry’s information gathering.

“Hey, _Harvey,_ ” Harry said through clenched teeth while trying to maintain his smile, “didn’t you say you had a bar to drink?” He turned to Mary with a sad expression and yell whispered, “poor lad, has a bit of a drink problem.”

“Actually, _Al,_ ” Malfoy said with a feral grin, “the sight of this beautiful woman is intoxication enough.” Malfoy picked up Mary’s hand from where it was still resting on Harry’s arm and kissed it. He placed it back on the table, leaned back in his chair, and licked his lips before knocking back the shot he’d brought with him.

Harry had had enough. “Mary needs another drink. Let’s go get her one, Harv.” Harry gripped Malfoy by the upper arm and dragged him from his chair. The arsehole gave a little wave over his shoulder as Harry propelled him toward the bar.

When they were far enough away from Mary, Harry whirled around and demanded, “what the hell was that?”

Malfoy looked down his nose and said, “scared of a little competition, Potter?”

“My name is Al,” Harry seethed. “I thought you were going to sit in a corner, not join us.”

“The corner was boring. Watching you try to flirt was much more entertaining,” Malfoy smirked.

“That wasn’t flirting, I was –”

“Whatever. More drinks.” Malfoy continued toward the bar and Harry stalked after him.

They pushed their way to the bar and Mark the bartender smiled when he saw Harry.

“Back so soon?” Mark asked.

“Hey, Mark. Here with my friend from yesterday,” Harry answered. Malfoy jostled him with his shoulder. “And this idiot,” Harry added.

Mark gave Malfoy a once over before responding to Harry. “I take it she still doesn’t have a chance?”

Harry shrugged.

“The two of you came together?” Mark asked, as though Harry hadn’t just said that they had.

Before Harry could respond, Malfoy leaned across the bar and drawled, “I come with whomever I please.”

Mark gave Malfoy a slow smile. He winked at Harry and asked, “what’ll you have?”

“Something girly, I guess.”

“And a firewhiskey. Make it a double,” Malfoy added, “I like to feel it in my throat.”

“Coming right up.” He made their drinks and set them on the bar. “On the house,” he said with another wink.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“I go on break in a little while,” Mark said glancing between them.

“Okay,” Harry said. That was good to know. Harry doubted anyone else behind the bar would serve them so quickly. He resolved to drink his pint slowly to avoid intoxication and a long wait time if he needed another.

Malfoy had no such qualms. He tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, and drained his glass. He set the glass back on the bar with a sharp _click_ and blew a stream of Firewhiskey smoke toward the ceiling. “I’m going to dance,” he announced and then sauntered away.

“He seems like trouble,” Mark said.

“You have no idea.”

Mark was watching the space Malfoy had disappeared into with a grin. “Trouble can make life interesting.”

“’Spose so,” Harry replied. He grabbed Mary’s drink and headed back to their table, hoping Malfoy would stay on the dancefloor and away from his information gathering.

“Thanks,” Mary said when Harry set the drink in front of her, “but I’m going to use the loo really quick now that you’re back. Watch my drink for me. I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, Harry was alone again. Sighing in annoyance, he took a drink of the pint Malfoy had brought him. He was pleased to find that it was the same blond ale he’d ordered for himself yesterday. 

Harry spent the next several minutes people watching as he sipped his drink. He’d been right to assume that most of the pub’s patrons would be drunk by now. People stood too close, touched too freely, and wore the glazed smiles of the happily inebriated.

Turning his attention to the nearby dancefloor, Harry watched as people swayed in time to the music in a way he’d never been able to achieve. A small group nearest Harry danced together lewdly. Bodies touched provocatively and hands were everywhere.

He was about to pointedly look elsewhere when he realized one of the dancers was Malfoy. From behind, he’d just been another nameless body in the writhing mass. When he suddenly turned around, his eyes had locked on Harry’s and there was no mistaking that challenging stare. There was a man pressed up behind him and a woman pressed in front, but Malfoy’s gaze never broke from Harry’s. Malfoy didn’t miss a beat while maintaining eye contact. His arms were raised commandingly in the air, each switch of a hip seemed to cause the bass to pulse, and the couple incasing him looked like they were worshiping a god.

Harry felt himself coloring and was relieved when Malfoy closed his eyes. The relief was short lived however, because Malfoy tilted his head back to rest on the man’s shoulder and covered the woman’s hands with his own. He slid them slowly down his chest, over his abdomen, and to his thighs. The woman’s body lowered with her hands and put her face right at crotch level. From Harry’s vantage point, it looked like Malfoy was using the man for support while he fucked the woman’s mouth.

“Well,” a voice said in Harry’s ear, causing him to jump, “looks like he’s having fun.” Looking away from the porn happening on the dancefloor, Harry saw that Mary had returned and was also watching Malfoy. She handed him a shot glass and raised another to him.

Dazed, Harry clinked his glass to hers and tossed it back. It burned horribly and he fought the urge to vomit. He washed it down with a long pull of his ale.

Mary took her shot and then gulped half the drink Harry had brought her. “Alright,” she said enthusiastically, “let’s dance!” She pulled his arm toward the dancefloor.

Resisting, Harry stammered, “oh… no, I – I don’t –”

“If you won’t dance with me, I’m sure he will.” She indicated Malfoy.

Malfoy had his eyes on Harry again. His eyes flicked up and down then slid over to Mary. A slow, lecherous smile crept over his lips and lingered there before he looked back at Harry and smirked.

The challenge was clear, and Harry felt his ire rise. The shot he’d taken had spread just enough warmth through his system to give him the courage to stand. He strode toward Malfoy as though drawn by a magnet. Mary was next to him, already rocking her hips to the beat.

The alcohol had led him to the dancefloor but didn’t lend any actual knowledge of how to dance. Suddenly at a loss, Harry shifted from foot to foot while Mary gyrated to his right. Malfoy was still watching him. He tried to recall anything McGonagall had taught them before the Yule Ball in fourth year and came up blank. He desperately tried to relax his shoulders and find any kind of rhythm. He failed utterly.

Harry was about to slink off in disgrace when Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook off his worshippers. He took three strides, all perfectly synced to the beat, and was right in front of Harry.

Malfoy leaned in, reeking of alcohol, and said into Harry’s ear, “stop thinking. Just move.”

Harry tried, he really did. But every movement he made felt clumsy and awkward. He accidentally bumped into someone and received a dirty look. Giving up, Harry stopped the jerky steps he’d been making and turned back toward his table.

A hand gripped his wrist and pulled him back. He was surprised to see that the hand belonged to Malfoy and even more surprised to see that there was no scornfully triumphant expression on his face. Instead, he looked intent and determined.

Malfoy stepped close enough that Harry could feel his heat along his back. “Malfoy –” Harry tried to protest.

“Shh,” Malfoy breath was hot against Harry’s ear, “I’m Harvey, stupid.”

Harry felt Malfoy’s grip on his wrist tighten and his other hand landed on Harry’s hip. “Stop thinking,” he said again. “Just move. It’s like flying.”

It was nothing like flying. People where all around him, he felt closed in, and everything was loud.

“Close your eyes,” Malfoy demanded. Harry did. “The crowd in the stands doesn’t matter. You’re a Seeker, high above everything.”

Harry stopped feeling quite so claustrophobic.

“The wind is the bass. Don’t fight it, move with it. Use it to get where you need to be.”

Oddly, this advice seemed to work a bit. Harry remembered the feeling of being buffeted by gusts of wind, of having his broom pitched this way and that and only regaining control when he used the bursts of wind to angle himself for the next.

Harry’s hips found the rhythm.

“The music is your broom. Use your whole body to make it a part of you.”

Only good flyers used their whole body, and Harry was an excellent flyer. Balance was centered in your hips, but for true control, you also used your thighs and calves. For speed, you used your abs, shoulders and biceps, straining all together, but fluidly so that you could adjust at a moment’s notice.

Harry’s body relaxed into the music, his muscles working sinuously. He felt pressure on his hip and followed it, turning in time with the beat. His wrist was released, and a hand fell on his other hip. Eyes still closed, he could feel Malfoy dancing with him.

“Joy is chasing the snitch. The rush. The thrill of knowing it’s about to be in your grasp.” Malfoy’s hands slid up Harry’s waist and lifted his arms. “Nothing can stop you.”

In that moment, Harry felt that it was true. Hands high above his head, entire body moving, feeling the pulses of music like wind, he felt euphoric. It was just like flying for the first time. The sudden realization that is was wonderful. This was easy.

Harry threw his head back and just moved.

Smiling in ecstasy, Harry opened his eyes to look at Malfoy. He faltered to a stop when he saw that Malfoy wasn’t dancing anymore, just standing there looking at him. Harry stared back for a long moment.

“I need another drink,” Malfoy said. He turned and almost stumbled as he began pushing his way toward the bar.

Harry stood here blinking and breathing hard. He shook his head and made his way back to the table. He didn’t know where Mary was. She hadn’t been on the dancefloor after he opened his eyes and she wasn’t at the table, but her glass was now empty. It seemed a little soon for her to have needed the loo again.

Harry finished his pint and gazed into the bottom of his glass. He sat there for long minutes, alone, and trying to avoid the few interested looks that where being thrown his way.

With a sigh, he got up and went to search for Mary at the bar. Maybe she’d gone for another drink.

He didn’t find her there or Mark who, presumably, was on his break.

Lacking a better option, Harry headed for the loos. Even if he didn’t find Mary on his way, he could use a slash.

The line for the Women’s was ridiculously long, but Mary wasn’t in it. She could have been inside, but Harry was starting to doubt it. As he reached the Men’s room door, it opened, and Mark came out. He stopped suddenly when he saw Harry.

“Have you seen my friend Mary?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I think I saw her leave a little while ago?” Mark shrugged uncertainly and then grinned, saying, “but I think your other friend could use some help.” He gestured over his shoulder at the bathroom door. “Tell him to owl me sometime.” With a wink, Mark left.

Harry entered the bathroom but didn’t immediately see Malfoy. Following the sound of muttered curses, Harry found him in one of the stalls. The door was wide open, and Malfoy was leaning against the wall while talking to his crotch.

“Stupid, fucking…”

“Alright there?” Harry asked.

Malfoy’s head snapped up and he stared blearily at Harry. “Stupid muggle zips.” He continued fumbling at his crotch and Harry realized that Malfoy might be rather drunk.

“Idiot,” Harry said without heat. With a resigned sigh, he stepped into the stall and reached for the zip on Malfoy’s trousers. Malfoy tried to bat his hands away. “You know, Mark could have helped you if you didn’t want me to do it.”

Malfoy stopped struggling and ogled at Harry. Abruptly, he laughed and said, “he helped me unzip them.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry zipped Malfoy up and said, “let’s get out of here. Mary already left.” He pulled Malfoy from his slouch against the wall and had to catch him as he listed sharply to the side. “I didn’t think you’d actually drink the bar.”

“Sleepy,” Malfoy slurred as he leaned heavily on Harry.

“Jesus, how much did you have?”

Malfoy’s face screwed up like he was trying, and failing, to do mental math.

Laboriously, Harry helped Malfoy out of the bathroom and to the pub’s exit. The cold air and sudden quiet of outside hit Harry like a physical blow.

“C’mon, I’ll side-along you.” Harry was mostly certain he was sober enough to Apparate. Tightening his hold on Malfoy’s waist, he turned and Disapparated.

They landed on the sidewalk outside Grimmauld Place badly. Harry stumbled and immediately started counting limbs. Thankfully, all were accounted for.

Malfoy fell to his knees and vomited into a bush.

Harry waited for him to finish and tried not to listen to the sounds of him retching.

When Malfoy finally stopped convulsing, Harry said, “you weren’t this bad half an hour ago. What happened?”

Wiping a shaky hand across his mouth, Malfoy answered, “three more shots. And then… You know… went into the gent’s…”

“Stupid,” Harry muttered in exasperation.

Malfoy heard him. “You’re stupid,” he said. “Couldn’t pull the _touchy-feely_ bint. Getting _winked_ at.” He swayed and glared at Harry accusingly. “No _pants._ ”

Bewildered, Harry said, “well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t need _you_ to help me with _my_ zip.”

Malfoy found this hilarious and laughed the entire time Harry helped him stand and stagger up the front steps. 

Once inside, Harry guided him upstairs and into the guestroom. Malfoy fell face first onto the bed, still wearing his clothes and his Harvey disguise. Harry hesitated in the doorway, wondering if he should offer more help. 

From the bed, Malfoy snored loudly. Sighing, Harry spelled off Malfoy’s shoes and tossed a blanket over him. Closing the door, Harry decided to just let him sleep it off. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi guys. It's been a while. But I'm back now! And we're finally making headway on earning that Explicit rating, so... I'msososorryI'lltrytodobetter.

If it had been twenty-four hours earlier, Harry would have been ecstatic to blearily stumble from his room at eight in the morning to answer the pounding Narcissa Malfoy was giving his front door. Well, maybe not _ecstatic,_ but certainly relieved. As things stood since yesterday’s Life Debt revelation, Harry was caught between anxiety and hope upon seeing her.

He hadn’t expected Narcissa to be so early, but as soon as he saw that it was her, the fog in his brain and the tired feeling behind his eyes evaporated. 

“Do you know who did it? Did you find them?” he blurted.

Her face twitched to something between surprise and disgust. “I’ve come for Draco.”

“Yes, well,” Harry said, “do you know who attacked him?”

“If my son is safe, you’ve filled your side of the bargain and the Debt between us is cancelled. Where is Draco?” 

It did not escape Harry’s notice that she was completely ignoring the question and anxiety began to overpower his hopefulness.

“He’s sleeping,” Harry said. “I’ll, um, go get him.” Harry did not want to be the one to break the news of the second Debt if she’d not been able to find who’d attacked Malfoy. He waved Narcissa inside and closed the door behind her.

“Kreacher!” Harry called.

_Pop._ “Master Harry is needing something?” Kreacher wore a harassed expression until he saw Mrs. Malfoy. When his eyes found her, he bowed deeply. “Mistress, please be coming with Kreacher. I is making you good tea.”

“Tea will not be necessary,” she said shortly. “I’ve come for Draco and then we will be leaving.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kreacher intoned with another deep bow. “Kreacher is taking good care of Master Draco while he is here. He is having plenty of rest and good tea. Last night, Kreacher is making sure he is comfortable.”

“Kreacher,” Harry said, “can you bring tea to the sitting room anyway? I’m going to go get Malfoy. He’ll probably need it.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Harry but followed Kreacher toward the sitting room with an irritated swish of her robes.

Harry climbed the stairs heavily, almost certain now that Narcissa hadn’t found answers. Not looking forward to more time spent with Malfoy in his house or telling Narcissa about its necessity, Harry paused outside Malfoy’s door before knocking softly.

No sound came from inside, so Harry knocked a little harder.

Still nothing.

“Malfoy,” Harry called, pounding with a fist.

Silence.

Irritated, Harry opened the door. Malfoy was completely covered in a pile of blankets, no portion of him visible at all.

“Malfoy,” Harry said from the doorway, “wake up.”

The blanket pile didn’t move or emit any sound.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry said in exasperation. Striding over to the bedside, he ordered, “get up!” He gave a sharp poke to where he thought Malfoy’s head might be. His only answer was a disgruntled snuffle.

Losing all patience, Harry grabbed the edge of a blanket and pulled. The lazy sod must have been laying on a portion of the blanket though, because all Harry managed to do was reveal an arm before meeting resistance.

A weak groan came from the pile.

Heartened, Harry pulled harder on his edge of the blanket. “I swear to God, you arsehole, I will drag you out!”

Harry was quite surprised when the lump on the bed suddenly moved, making Harry stumble back as the blanket came free abruptly.

“Fuck off and die,” Malfoy moaned pathetically.

Regaining his balance, Harry looked to the bed and then felt a deep flush sweep up his neck and cover his face with heat. More of Malfoy was visible now. Much more. The only thing still covered was his head, where it was buried under a pillow. From shoulder blades to toes, Malfoy was naked.

A strangled noise came from Harry’s throat as his eyes betrayed him by following the line of Malfoy’s body. His skin was so pale. Paler then Ginny’s and without all the freckles. From ankles, to calves, up his thighs and over the swell of his arse, there was nothing to interrupt the expanse of his skin. Harry watched the muscles in Malfoy’s back shift as he moved an arm.

“The fuck do you want?” Malfoy demanded as he lifted his pillow the barest inch.

Harry spun around and stared at the wall. Clearing his throat, he croaked, “your mum is here.” With that, he strode out of the room without looking back and slammed the door behind him.

*

Rather than heading straight back to the sitting room, Harry took a detour to the bathroom. He blinked at his reflection a few times without really seeing himself. His mind was stuck on the flowing line of skin he’d just seen. It had been the last thing he’d expected. Last night, he’d left Malfoy completely clothed and there was no way the git would have been able to manage undressing himself.

Kreacher. It must have been him. He’d told Narcissa he had made Malfoy comfortable, hadn’t he? Why did the elf keep taking Malfoy’s clothes? It was indecent. At the rate Kreacher was going, Harry was going to have to burn his whole house down. The sitting room couch had just been the beginning of a streak of arson. Harry wondered if he had home insurance. Did wizards have that? He should look into it. Seemed the type of thing a home owner should know.

Realizing he was babbling in his own head, Harry turned on the taps and splashed water on his face. What was wrong with him? It was just skin. Harry had seen plenty of bare arses. He’d lived in a dormitory for six years! Shared a bathroom and quidditch locker room, for God’s sake.

It was the surprise of it. That had to be it. Malfoy had always been harsh lines, crisp creases, and thick, dark robes. Suddenly confronted with smooth contours and soft, pale curves had just been jarring for Harry’s mind. It had upset his mental concept of Malfoy. Made him more… human? Approachable? Less angry-tower-of-impenetrable-malice?

This was absurd. Harry was having an existential crisis over an arse cheek? Everyone had an arse! Some big, some small, sometimes hairy or freckled, some supple, some jiggly. Would Malfoy’s ripple when he walked or bounce firmly? There would certainly be movement to it. There was too much flesh there in the swell of his arse for there to be no movement. It probably bounced. Maybe rippled if slapped.

Harry groaned into his hands and wondered when the insanity had first begun to settle in. Probably the moment Narcissa had shown up on his doorstep three days ago.

Fuck. Narcissa was in his sitting room right now. Malfoy was (hopefully?) getting dressed to join her. Harry needed to stop thinking about arses and leave the bathroom. A quick refocusing on his reflection showed that his flush was gone. If anything, he was a bit pale, eyes a little too wide. That was fine. He was fine. An arse was an arse. Nothing special.

Harry left the bathroom and went to the sitting room. Upon his entering, Narcissa cocked her head and raised a sardonic eyebrow at him.

_Oh my God_ , Harry thought with wild panic, _she knows!_

“Mr. Potter,” she said smoothly, “are you redecorating?” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the empty space that used to contain a couch.

Harry’s heart couldn’t choose between beating out of his chest and stopping completely.

“Master is telling Kreacher to burn it,” Kreacher supplied sadly as he poured tea for her.

Narcissa did not look impressed. “That piece was a 17th century antique.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely, “it didn’t go with the Feng Shui.”

“I see.” Her tone suggested that she very much did not. Harry was relieved when her gaze moved passed him to the doorway.

“Mother,” Malfoy’s voice greeted from behind Harry.

“Draco?” Narcissa sounded puzzled.

Turning, and definitely not thinking about arses, Harry saw that Malfoy still sported Harvey’s face and hair. Harry tried to surreptitiously indicate to Malfoy that the disguise was still in place. All he got for his trouble was an expression of sneering confusion. Giving up subtlety, Harry pointed at his own hair and then to Malfoy’s.

The git slowly lifted a hand to his hair before understanding filtered into his eyes. Looking chagrined and slightly embarrassed, he waved a quick _finite_ at his hair and face before approaching his mum and bending down to kiss her cheek.

With ice in her voice, Narcissa asked, “why do you smell like a distillery?” Her eyes unfairly focused on Harry, as though it was his fault the stupid idiot couldn’t hold his liquor.

“Hardly a distillery,” Malfoy muttered. “I needed a night out after the difficulties of the last few days. Potter was good enough to comply.”

Narcissa’s eyes bore into Harry. “You let my son go to a pub after he was brutally beaten?”

“ _’Let’_ me?” Malfoy’s squawked indignation would have been funnier if Harry hadn’t been so busy wishing the floor would swallow him. In hindsight, the pub had been a bad, not to mention useless, idea.

Dismissing Harry from her notice entirely, Narcissa stood and made to sweep from the room, commanding as she went, “come, Draco, we’re leaving.”

Malfoy didn’t move. Neither did Harry. They stared at each other, both silently willing the other to break the silence.

Finally, Malfoy said, “um.”

Narcissa rounded on him and Harry was infinitely glad he’d won the silent contest. She fixed Malfoy with her sharpest look yet and arched a dangerous eyebrow.

“You didn’t happen to find who attacked me, did you?” Malfoy asked quietly while looking at the floor.

“No. And that is why we are leaving for the continent. Right now.” The command in her voice refused disobedience. “Come along, Draco.”

“I can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t, “Malfoy repeated. In a rush he said, “we accidently triggered my Life Debt to Potter. I have to stay with him until we know who attacked me.”

Slowly, Narcissa turned to Harry with murder in her eyes. “Did you do this on purpose?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “Of course not!”

She looked back at Malfoy with narrowed eyes for a long moment. “You’re not telling me everything,” she accused with surety.

Looking at the floor, Malfoy said, “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Do not lie to me, Draco,” she snapped, “I know you leave the manor some nights.”

Malfoy flinched like he’d been hit. Eyes still trained on the floor, he said, “it’s nothing to be concerned about, I swear.”

With quick strides Narcissa strode to Malfoy and took his face in her hands. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing.” Malfoy tilted his face up to her and closed his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Malfoy squeezed his eyes tighter. “You don’t need to worry. Everything is under control.”

Harshly, Narcissa bit out, “that’s what your father said when the Dark Lord came to stay at the manor.”

Malfoy shuddered but refused to open his eyes. “Mum…” he trailed off pleadingly.

“Look at me!” Narcissa yelled. And then quick as a flash, her hand swung and slapped Malfoy in the face with a resounding _crack._

Shocked, Malfoy’s eyes snapped open and immediately locked with his mother’s.

In the tense, prolonged silence that followed, Harry didn’t know what to do. Malfoy was involved in something. Again. The pang of disappointment Harry felt was a surprise. The anger was not. Fucking Malfoy. Always being the cause of his own downfall. And still, Harry had to help him.

When the staring contest continued beyond what Harry was comfortable with, he cleared his throat pointedly. Neither Malfoy moved, blinked, or gave any indication that they’d heard him at all. Belatedly, Harry realized Narcissa was delving into her son’s mind with Legilimency.

Harry’s discomfort grew with every passing moment. To give himself something to do, he made himself a cup of tea. He almost spilled the whole thing down his front when Malfoy sucked in a ragged breath a few moments later. Looking up, Harry saw that Malfoy was looking at the floor again and Narcissa was blinking rapidly at her son.

“I wanted to tell you,” Malfoy whispered.

Narcissa just kept looking at him, expression blank.

“Mother,” Malfoy begged, “please…”

“I –” Narcissa said, “I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense,” she said briskly. With a minute shake of her head, she gathered herself. “I’ll find your attackers. It’s just going to take a bit longer than I anticipated.”

“What did you see?” Harry broke in.

Both Malfoys turned to him with expressions that said he was an ill-mannered cretin nosing in where he didn’t belong.

“It is of no concern to you, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said dismissively. “Draco will remain here until I find his attackers.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Harry snapped. “You’ve found nothing. _I’ve_ found nothing.”

“You’ve found nothing?” Narcissa returned archly. “I was unaware that you cared.”

Harry ignored the dig. “There is no hint out there of who did it. I’ve been looking. Even Emilia Fawley has no information. Yes,” he raised a hand to forestall Narcissa’s interruption, “she told me you went to see her.”

“I see.” Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Harry. “Then are you suggesting we accept that Draco will live here with you forever?”

Pale skin. Smooth curves. Lean muscles. The risk of seeing it every day, forever. This bizarre fascination and the way his brain seemed determined to fixate on it.

“God no,” Harry said more emphatically than intended. “I’m not suggesting anything. I was just saying, is all.”

“Quite.” Her tone was cutting.

God, how were they going to get out of this? If only Malfoy could _remember…_

“Wait,” Harry said suddenly, “can’t you look into his head and see who did it? He had to have seen them.”

Malfoy scowled at him and Narcissa shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, “I tried as soon as I healed him. The memory is gone. He was Obliviated and whoever did it knew what they were doing.”

“Damn,” Harry said.

So much for assuming the memory lapse was from head trauma. Harry needed Hermione. No one knew more about Obliviation and memory than her. Hopefully, she’d managed to restore her parents’ memories. If she could do that, cracking Malfoy’s brain should be a snap for her. At long last, Harry began to feel a spark of hope. Hermione could fix anything. Harry just had to make it to next Wednesday and she’d be back to pull him out of this mess.

“Mother,” Malfoy said quietly, “can you have some of my things sent over? It seems I may be here a while.”

“Of course,” she said, “I should have thought of it sooner.”

“Thank you.”

Narcissa’s face softened and she reached out to touch the red handprint she’d left on his face. Malfoy winced at the contact and it looked like it pained Narcissa to see him do it. She murmured a spell and the print faded. “I sometimes forget that you’ve grown and aren’t a child anymore. But you’ll always be my boy. Always.”

Malfoy swallowed and nodded.

Narcissa inhaled deeply and pulled away. “I have a few more avenues I can pursue. When I find who hurt you, you can come home, and we’ll have a chat.”

“Yes, Mother. I’ll walk you out.” Malfoy still seemed subdued, but a little less defeated.

They exited the room and Harry was left to wonder what the hell had just happened between the two of them. Was Malfoy involved in something or not? Why was he sneaking out at night? What was he hiding?

Malfoy came back into the sitting room before too long and sat down with his head in his hands. “Just ask, Potter. I know you’re dying to.”

Well, he was right. “What did your mum see when she looked into your head?”

Malfoy sighed and looked at Harry. “Last night wasn’t my first pub night.”

“Oh?”

“No. I go out sometimes. I didn’t tell my mother.” His face scrunched up. “She saw some of my more… exciting moments. She saw some of last night.”

Harry remembered how shamelessly he’d flirted with Mary and the sinful way Malfoy had moved on the dancefloor. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re not attempting to singlehandedly resurrect the glorious order of Death Eaters?”

Malfoy snorted. “Not hardly.”

“Okay.” Harry filled a teacup and handed it to him.

Malfoy looked from the cup to him in surprise and said warily, “that’s it? ‘Okay’? No further interrogation or suspicion?”

Shrugging, Harry took a sip of his tepid tea. “Must be going soft in my old age.”

“So,” Malfoy said, “Mother doesn’t know who did it.”

“Nope. I haven’t found anything either.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I should have guessed you’d poke your nose in. Never could sit by when there was a mystery to solve.”

“I should have just sat on my hands and let your mum do all the work? I do have some resources, Malfoy,” Harry said dryly.

“Fat lot of good they did,” Malfoy responded bitterly.

Stung, Harry snapped, “I might’ve gotten more information last night if you’d have stopped throwing yourself at Mary for five seconds.”

“I was not!” Malfoy said indignantly. “What do you mean ‘information’? You were on a date!”

“I told you it wasn’t a date. She has access to financial files I wanted.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he looked at Harry in surprise. “Harry Potter,” he said in tones of wonder, “St. Potter. Golden Boy and Savior. You led a woman on. You _lied_ to her.”

An uncomfortable twinge of guilt made him frown as he said, “I didn’t _lie._ ”

“You did,” Malfoy looked gleefully malicious. In a high approximation of a woman’s voice, Malfoy simpered, “ _’oh Harry, you’re so amazing –’_ ”

“She doesn’t know I’m Harry Potter.”

“Whatever. Shut up.” Malfoy cleared his throat and continued in falsetto, “ _’sooo amazing. Can I touch you? Please let me touch you. I must feel your manly caress. Do you like my glorious tits? Let me push them up a bit further for you.’_ ” Malfoy cupped his non-existent, invisible, and absurdly large breasts and proffered them to Harry in a horrifying manner.

“Oh my God,” Harry groaned, “please stop.”

Malfoy did not oblige. “ _’If only your friend wasn’t soooo much more handsome and charming than you, I’d love for you to pump me for,’_ ” Malfoy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “ _’information.’_ ”

“You’re disgusting.” Harry was not going to smile. He wasn’t.

“ _You_ are disgusting,” Malfoy retorted. “She was practically gagging for it and you didn’t seal the deal.”

Feeling uncomfortable again, Harry said, “Mary’s nice. I wouldn’t do that.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes so hard, Harry was a bit concerned he might’ve seen his own brain. “Are you sexually repressed? Because I think you’re sexually repressed.”

“Oh? And you’re having it off left, right, and center?” Harry asked testily while not thinking about pale arses.

Malfoy didn’t answer, just looked at Harry like he was an idiot.

Harry’s prickly feeling of discomfort was interrupted by Kreacher. “Sirs,” he said as he came into the room, “an Owl is coming.”

“Oh,” Harry said, holding out a hand, “give it here, then.”

“It is not being for you.” Kreacher’s tone was just this side of insolent. With a flourish, he presented the letter to Malfoy.

Malfoy took the parchment but kept his eyes on the elf. “You,” he said, pointing accusingly at Kreacher, “need to stop taking my clothes off.”

Kreacher wilted and Harry was _not_ thinking about arses.

Turning his attention to the letter, Malfoy unsealed it and read the contents. “It’s an invitation,” he said bemusedly.

Harry had to clear his throat before he could ask, “to what?”

“Teddy’s birthday party.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not sure how to interpret Malfoy’s tone, “did you not actually want to go?”

“No, of course I’ll –” Malfoy scanned the letter again. “Potter,” he said a bit panicky, “it’s _tomorrow._ ”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t bought him a gift!”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Don’t be stupid. I can’t go empty handed!” Malfoy’s eyes darted around. “What do five-year-old’s _do?_ ”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Teddy likes kid stuff? What did you do when you were five?”

“I organized garden gnome pit fighting and commanded the house elves to joust with each other while riding the peacocks.”

Harry’s eyebrows merged with his hairline.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Malfoy sulked, “it was only ‘til first blood.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, “let’s not teach that to Teddy. Ever. Maybe you could, I dunno, get him some Gobstones?”

Malfoy sneered at the suggestion before squaring his shoulders with determination. “Right, okay. We have to go shopping. Let’s go.”

“Now?” Harry asked. “On a Saturday? Diagon is going to be a madhouse!”

“Potter,” Malfoy said with false patience, “I still have a headache from my hangover, my mother just took a _very_ embarrassing stroll through my memories, and I’m going to meet my five-year-old cousin tomorrow amidst, what I can only assume, will be a crowd of people who don’t particularly like me. We are going to stop for coffee and then we are going to find the best gift ever given to any child anywhere because I can’t do anything about being stuck with you for the duration and I will not wallow endlessly in this house until I die of old age.”

“Wow, Malfoy,” Harry said, “please, don’t hold back.”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

*

Less than an hour later, Malfoy was spewing a constant stream of muttered bitching in Harry’s ear.

“I cannot believe you dragged me here, Potter. This is not what I had in mind. What the fuck is this place?”

“Starbucks,” Harry said.

“No. This is muggle hell.” Malfoy had his shoulders hunched toward his ears and was eyeing everyone with suspicion. “What is wrong with them? They just… shuffle forward and look at their hands.”

Rolling his eyes massively, Harry said, “have you really never been to a Starbucks? They’re everywhere.”

Harry might as well have asked if Malfoy enjoyed bathing in feces. With a shutter of disgust, Malfoy shook his head. “What is in their hands?”

“Mobiles. Kind of like George’s Brick? It’s where he got the idea.”

Malfoy squinted harder at the mobile the girl just ahead of them was rapidly tapping. “I just lost all of my newfound respect for Weasley Four.”

“Don’t be a prick,” Harry admonished. “And shut up, it’s almost our turn.”

Once at the counter, Harry smiled at the barista and ordered a white chocolate mocha.

“And for you, sir?” the barista asked Malfoy brightly.

Looking at the menu board in perplexity, Malfoy said, “coffee?”

Rolling his eyes again, Harry said, “he’ll have the same.” He considered Malfoy for a moment before adding, “with an extra espresso shot.”

A few minutes later, paper cups in hand, they made their way toward the exit. Once outside, Harry paused to take a sip and asked, “so, Diagon?”

With a decisive nod, Malfoy said, “Gringotts first. As amusing as it was to spend your money on drinks last night, I am no one’s kept boy.”

Harry winced.

Malfoy’s lip curled. “Don’t worry, Potter, I don’t intend sully your honor with untoward assumptions and impositions.”

“What? No, it’s just… Gringotts. They’re still pretty angry about the whole,” Harry gestured vaguely, “stealing their dragon thing.”

A moment of silence passed while Malfoy just stared at him.

“You stole their dragon.”

“Er… yeah.”

“You stole from goblins. A dragon.”

“Yes?”

“And you are still alive and not in a state of financial ruin.”

“Yes, I mean… I don’t think so.”

“Unbelievable,” Malfoy said in exasperated amazement. “You _stole_ a _dragon_ from _goblins._ ” Shaking his head in disbelief, he took a drink of his mocha. He lowered the cup lowly and narrowed his eyes in accusation.

“What?”

“This is not coffee.” Malfoy gestured at his cup. “This is a hot, coffee flavored, chocolate milkshake.”

*

The walk through the Leaky Cauldron was awkward for Harry. Conversations slowly died as they made their way through and eyes fixed on Malfoy. Harry made a mental note of anyone who’s stare looked a little too unfriendly. If Malfoy noticed their looks, he ignored them.

The walk through Gringotts was almost the same but with their roles reversed. Harry’s back felt itchy from all the looks the goblins gave it. He tried to appear aloof and carefree, but Malfoy’s small smile indicated that he’d failed utterly.

It was a relief to leave the main thoroughfare and move onto a side street. Harry followed Malfoy into a toy shop he’d never been into before and immediately mourned the loss of a childhood that could have been. Everything was brightly packaged and cheery. Stuffed animals cavorted in a pen, a train set chugged through the air overhead, and a display of action heroes strutted around impressively, striking the occasional heroic pose.

“Ugh,” Malfoy said in disgust, “look, it’s you.” He picked up a figure from the display and placed in on his upturned palm. Tiny Harry stood with his chest out and brandished a tiny wand at Real Harry. A small, commanding voice said, “Expelliarmus!” Satisfied that the villain was vanquished, Tiny Harry tucked his wand away and strode around Malfoy’s hand self-importantly.

“That looks nothing like me,” Harry declared knowing that it absolutely did.

Malfoy snorted and placed Tiny Harry back on his stand. “They definitely got the walk right.”

“Whatever. What are you getting for Teddy?”

“What did you get him?”

“There was an advert in Quidditch Weekly for miniature players that can play against each other. I got him two teams.”

“Of course you did.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Which teams?”

“The Cannons and the Harpies,” Harry answered. “I was going to get the Tornadoes, but Ginny told me to go with the Harpies instead. She’s hoping to play for them.”

Malfoy’s face soured. “Ah, Girl Weasley. Bit overbearing, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” Harry snapped.

With a shrug, Malfoy added, “I’m sure she’ll get picked up. It’s not like she has to be good or anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Malfoy said offhandedly, “everyone knows about her… affiliation with you.”

“That’s stupid. No team is going to sign a player just because they know me.” The very notion was off-putting. Professional quidditch was about skill and talent. Ginny would need to train hard, but she could definitely make it to the pro level someday.

“Sure they won’t,” Malfoy agreed sarcastically as he walked away towards a section of roaring dinosaurs.

Harry gave his back a dirty look and then wandered off to explore all the youthful delights he’d missed out on while growing up with the Dursley’s.

Almost an hour later, Harry’s perusal was interrupted by Malfoy, who was holding a bag. He cocked his head at Harry and said, “I thought you already got him a present.”

Harry readjusted the toys he was struggling to hold under each arm and said, “I did. These are for me.” He quickly swiped another box off the shelf and brushed past Malfoy before the git could comment. He paid for his purchases and ignored Malfoy who was smirking while trailing behind him.

*

Harry was excited to get home and open up his new toys. Malfoy disappeared into the library and Harry settled himself into the sitting room with his bags.

First, he took out his mini quidditch figures. They were the same kind he’d bought through owl order for Teddy, but he’d chosen the Tornadoes and the Falcons for himself. The figures flew over the table at Harry’s direction and swooped around the little goal posts that were included with each set. Harry put them through their paces before having them land and diving back into his bags.

With childish glee, Harry opened a bottle of Never Popping Bubbles and blew into the wand. He made small bubbles that shifted colors as they floated around the room. With a bit of trying, he figured out how to blow bigger bubbles. Soon, the room was full of multicolored bubbles of varying sizes.

Next, Harry started in on his Ever-Changing Puzzle. It was much more difficult than the muggle variety. The pieces changed shape until you connected them correctly to their adjoining pieces and, because the puzzle changed, he wouldn’t know what the puzzle was until it was completed.

Harry was just finishing the edge pieces when Malfoy’s voice came from the hallway.

“Potter, this thing doesn’t do anything! I –” he broke off as he entered the sitting room. “What the fuck?”

Harry grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“There are tiny quidditch players passing bubbles over your head.”

Harry looked up and saw that he was right. “Yeah.”

“You are so weird.” Malfoy shook his head. “Anyway… This thing doesn’t do anything!” He waved a muggle mobile at Harry accusingly.

“Where did you get that?”

“From a muggle in that horrible, _lying_ coffee shop.”

“Malfoy, you can’t just steal things from muggles!”

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. “You stole a _dragon_. From _goblins_. And anyway, he shouldn’t have had it dangling out of his back pocket if he wanted to keep it.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Those are expensive, you twat.”

“So are dragons.”

“Oh my God, let it go. It was _one_ time.”

“And I only took one muggle thing.” Harry got the distinct impression that Malfoy wanted to stick his tongue out at him. “Now, if it’s so expensive, why doesn’t it _do_ anything?”

“It runs on electricity. All the magic in the house interferes with it so it won’t work here.”

“Damnit,” Malfoy muttered. “foiled by ekricity again.”

Not sure if he wanted to know what Malfoy meant by ‘again,’ Harry turned back to his puzzle.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asked.

“A puzzle. Damned thing is harder than I thought it’d be. The pieces keep shifting.”

Coming closer, Malfoy looked down at Harry’s progress. “You have to try to match the colors and shapes in the image not the pieces themselves. Look,” kneeling down, Malfoy picked up a piece and fitted it to another.

“I was doing that,” Harry groused.

“Here, budge over. I’m good at these.”

They spent the next hour in near silence working on the puzzle together. Occasionally, Malfoy would pause to flick a bubble at a tiny quidditch player that flew too close. Otherwise, his focus was almost absolute. Long, thin fingers would pick up a puzzle piece and sharp eyes would scrutinize it as it shifted through a sequence of shapes. Then, he would scan the remaining pieces until finding the one he wanted. Each time this happened, Malfoy would smile as he clicked them together.

Harry realized he was staring when Malfoy looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow. “This is making my eyes hurt. Play a game of tiny quidditch?”

“My eyes feel fine. You probably need glasses.”

Malfoy gave him an offended look. “Just for that, I get to be the Falcons. Prepare to face utter defeat.”

*

Harry went to bed happy that night. Sure, they still didn’t know who was responsible for the attack on Malfoy and Harry was at a dead end with leads, but he’d gotten to spend most of the day playing with toys and kicking Malfoy’s arse at tiny quidditch.

He eased into bed feeling relaxed and content. The pillow cradled his head just right and the blankets were pleasantly warm and soft. There was really only one other thing that could further ease him into sleep.

Unhurriedly, Harry slipped his hand into his pajama bottoms. He idly slid the pads of his finger over his soft, but slowly filling, prick. Even the material of his pajamas felt wonderful against the back of his hand. Well, they were his favorite pair for a reason.

Harry paused as that last thought registered. His favorite pair of pajamas. The ones Malfoy wore on his first day there. He’d forgotten to burn them.

They were just pajamas, he told himself, and Kreacher would have washed them anyway. It wasn’t weird. Malfoy probably didn’t usually wear pajamas in any case. Harry hadn’t noticed any missing sets. Probably slept naked.

Harry pushed the thought away and resumed his languid stroking. He conjured the image of full breasts. Smooth and round, pushed up and together by graceful hands, nipples peeking between fingers. Abruptly, Harry remembered Malfoy’s voice saying, “ _I’d love for you to pump me for information.”_

Well.

Harry concentrated on the feel of his hand moving up and down, pulling the foreskin down and tightening over the head. He imagined it was someone else’s hand touching him. A small feminine hand with pink nail varnish making his prick look that much bigger for its dainty size. Or maybe a hand with long fingers to wrap around his shaft with a firm grip.

Harry gave himself a squeeze and began moving with more speed.

Definitely long fingers and a firm grip. Not too small. He liked the idea of being encompassed by someone else’s touch. A hand that could grasp him with heat and surety, move boldly just how Harry liked.

Harry imagined his prick being encompassed by someone else’s body. Sinking in until there wasn’t anything left to give them. Feeling his flesh pressed flush to theirs. Harry would want to look at them while he was fully inside. Clutch their hips and feel them flex. The smooth contours and tensing muscles.

Breath coming quicker, Harry reached down with his other hand to cup his bollocks.

Strong muscles that met Harry’s every move, every thrust. He would pause, deep inside them, savoring the feeling and kiss their spine, the nape of their neck. Run a hand along a long, lean body and feel the smoothness of their skin.

Harry felt himself racing toward climax.

He’d be so deep. He’d lean up and watch his cock slide out of them. Almost all the way. And then slide back in until he was completely sheathed again. In and out. Holding onto hips that met him with desperation, with need. Taking it with ease. Arching a pale back and suddenly slamming their round, full arse back onto Harry. No more slow glides. Hard and frantic. Crying out and taking Harry with them.

The memory of Malfoy’s naked body slotted itself into Harry’s fantasy and he came hard with that image burning in his mind’s eye.

Breathing harshly, Harry said with feeling, “ _what the fuck._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


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